


A Lifetime Overnight

by radeeoactive



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radeeoactive/pseuds/radeeoactive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dee, the sole survivor of the Vault 111 Cryogenics experiment, searches for her son and struggles to come to terms with the loss of a whole world and reconcile her expectations with reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye

Doctor Amari’s lab filtered into view as the jumbled memories cleared from her eyes. Dee lurched in her seat, disoriented, blinded by the bright lights. The doctor urged her to be careful, patient, and, most importantly, seated. But she ignored Amari, hands groping blindly for the door and stumbling out, desperate for fresh air.

The doctor wisely let her go. Dee was almost at the top of the steps when she realized there was no fresh air anywhere; only dust and radiation. She leaned heavily against the handrail. Flickers of Kellogg’s thoughts intersected with hers. Would it always be this way now? The man that had made her a widow, always whispering, reminding? Her grip tightened as if it were his throat.

A baby in her arms –  _not mine_. The features blurred together, her baby and Kellogg’s. Two babies. One baby. Either way, gone.

The Memory Den’s proprietor, Irma, watched her lurch from the steps towards the enclosed waiting area. Likely a common sight.

The other memory machines were all taken by every type of person imaginable. Every age, every lifestyle, tapped into a machine to let them relive their favorite moments. More likely, just a single moment, over and over again. Some poor idiot had even taken his sunglasses in with him. Dee passed blissful smiles and streaming tears alike. How many were repeat customers? How many sat in day after day, living out the one good thing they saw in their whole lives in this pit? 

Before – before Kellogg, before the Vault, before Boston – she would have been curious to peek. The wonder! To see the world through the eyes of another, to feel as they felt, to lurk in their minds and observe. The stuff of science fiction, as common as a drug. She only felt bile rise at the thought now. Some things were meant to stay in the past, never to be relived. 

Nick sat in the closed off waiting area, hands folded in his lap, ankles crossed. A memory floated up; it was her own this time, a natural recollection. Her father waiting for the bus on a bench, hands folded in his lap, ankles crossed.

His eyes were unfocused. When she had learned to distinguish the different states of a synth eye was a mystery. He looked up as she approached, his face making the small shifts from solemn to worried. However they had built him, they had paid a good amount of attention to his eyes. To the brow, the lower lid, the crux of human emotion.

“You okay?” he asked as she sat.

She nodded vaguely. “Fine.” But the crack in the word gave her away.

She couldn’t bring herself to say  _no_. Nothing good could come of it. It would bring doubts and doubts made her slow. Dee knew herself; once she stopped, she would never be able to break herself out of the cycle of questions. Even now, she knew she had to get up and find a way to get to the Institute; a piece of her prowled in bloody anticipation, ready to rip down walls and men alike to get back her son.

But she sat gripping the edge of the bench, not quite able to move but her heart still lurching.

“Dee…” Nick said. He’d given her that nickname when her old one – the one Ryan had called her – turned out to be the same as his assistant’s, and it had stuck. Hardly mattered what anyone called her now. No government records to confirm or deny it.

She shook her head rapidly. “I just – I need a minute, okay?”

Nick nodded, unconvinced, and leaned back in his seat.

A thought struck her. She dug deep into her pockets for a small tape and plugged it into her Pip-Boy. Codsworth had given it to her, but to play it at the time – she had been too raw. Then she had become too afraid. Playing the tape seemed like admitting Ryan was gone. Admitting this wasn’t some cryosleep dream. 

But denial’s simple comforts could only go so far. Ryan was dead. Shaun was gone. The tape fit into the Pip-Boy and clicked as it began to play.

Ryan’s laugh poured from the device alongside Shaun’s eager gurgles. The recording was tinny and faded, but it was Ryan’s voice. She’d gone too long without it. There was no visual accompaniment, but she still stared the Pip-Boy raptly, letting herself imagine him sitting with Shaun. At home, the room sunlit. She smiled lopsidedly as he urged Shaun to speak.

“Hi, honey!” he said. “Listen. I don’t think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are. But we’re going to anyway!”

Dee shook her head at the Pip-Boy. He’d always been better with the baby, and he hadn’t even been there half of the year. She’d vanished somehow. Without going anywhere, she’d vanished once the baby was out. The doctors called it one thing and she’d snorted and called it what it was: terrible mothering.

He listed virtues. Kind, loving, funny.  _Patient_. All untrue.

Not that she thought he was lying on purpose. He was merely deceived, his good heart tricking him into seeing what he wanted to see out of his wife.

He promised the coming days would improve; he’d reintegrate with the civilian workforce and she’d go back to the advertisement company. All still untrue, though that wasn’t his fault. 

Shaun gurgled his goodbyes. The memories mixed and Ryan’s chest flooded with red. 

“We love you!” he concluded, smile audible even in the recording.

She flinched. Kellogg pointed the gun and the shot rang through the underground lab. What a lucky widow she was, having had the unique privilege of seeing Ryan slump over from  _two_ angles, blood flooding the vault suit.

She hit the replay button before it even finished playing. Again. A fourth time. She latched onto every syllable, every word, memorizing. If she could have no good memory of his face, she would remember his voice. A fifth time.

“But everything we do, no matter how hard…”

Eyes shut, she pulled her wrist closer, dripping tears and snot onto the Pip-Boy. Ryan always said she was messy when she cried, and it was rare enough to be noticeable. _It’s ‘cause you let it pile up and then blow it all out into a tissue. Or fifty._  He laughed easily and teared up easily, much faster than her. But there was never anger.  _She_ was always angry about something. It was easier to be angry than it was to be patient.

“We’ll do it as a family.”

Sixth.

Shaun crying as he was pulled out of Ryan’s grasp. Shaun, a child of ten (she’d missed his first words, first steps – and the second, and third, and the thousandth), polite, saying his thank yous to  _Mr. Kellogg_  like he was a friendly neighbor babysitting.

The anger flooded. What kind of sick fuck lost his wife and child and decided it would be a good life decision to do the same to someone else? For just a moment, there had been the hope that she could understand Kellogg. Even in her anger, she could see he had seemed aware and resigned to his fate, too weary to challenge it. But the more she knew, the less she understood. Would she end up like him, if she failed to reach Shaun?

A sob shook her. She didn’t want to cry. The lack of tears had been a point of pride, tangible proof that she was being strong like a mother was supposed to. But there was no ache in her bones and muscles as strong as this one. No bout, no fight, no bruise, no sprain that hurt the way this did. She reached blindly to replay the tape a seventh time. Metal fingers closed around her hand instead. It didn’t take much pressure to stop her.

“We love you!” Ryan reminded her. Shaun giggled. The recording played itself into silence.

Dee trembled, trying to contain herself. “Ryan should have been the one here. I should be dead. He can do this.” Her words were slurred and thick with mucus. “I can’t do this, I can’t.”

Nick’s arm came around her shoulder, and she wailed as he said softly,  _You can. You have. You will._

Her father smelled ( _had_ smelled, two hundred years ago) like oil and smoke and sweat, all the things his beloved motor cars smelled of. Unexpectedly, perhaps because he ran on the same principles, Nick smelled almost the same. It was baked into his coat – old smells, muted, mixed with woods, the scent of old file folders, hints of Ellie’s perfume. There was even burnt metal and coolant, hanging about the way sweat did. Between sobs, the sound of something ticking at roughly the tempo of a heartbeat. Nick simultaneously eased her homesickness and made it worse.

It was easy to forget that there was more to people than shooting and threats and stabbing and picking through corpses for fucking bottlecaps and a spare clip of ammunition. Nick wasn’t warm, but he didn’t need to be. He didn’t pat or murmur, no attempts at soothing her silent. Only the comforting weight of his hand settled on her shoulder. He was unambiguously  _there_ when everything else seemed to tear out of her grasp. He was sitting through her tears even though he had just risked his whole being to process Kellogg’s implant. Which she, endlessly selfish, hadn’t thanked him for or even asked how he was. That reminder got her sobs to subside a little.

It took several tries to get words to come out between gasps for breath. “Thank you,” she managed to croak into his coat. “Thank you for everything.”

He gave her another few seconds, then let her sit back. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been crying, but it had probably been some time. His patience was endless and inhuman – and she was glad for it. He drew a clean-looking handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over.

Dee couldn’t help but scoff into it. “You’re prepared for anything, aren’t you?”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’ll admit, you’ve thrown a few curveballs, but a good detective knows there’s always crying. Hope it’ll be happy tears by the end.”

She cleaned her face under her glasses but didn’t hand back the handkerchief. “I’ll, uh, wash it and give it back.”

“You… hang on to it,” he said with a nod.

She sniffed, giving a small smile that faded quickly.

“You feel any better?”

“No,” she admitted. There was no point in lying about that anymore. It still remained fact that Ryan should have been here and not her. He could have found Shaun faster, better, more bravely. But she was here and he was not and if wishes were pennies, she’d have a million of a currency that no longer mattered. “I want to raise Kellogg from the dead and kill him all over again.” She paused. “That’s terrifying.”

“Well– people have killed for less…” he said cautiously.

She stared at the the snotty cloth in her hand and gave another latent sniff. “I’ve never been a killer. I was punchy, sure. But it was never… I’ve never – I just want to crush him again. He killed Ryan, he took Shaun. And for these people who– How could someone do that?" 

He needed to die every death she had in the last two weeks and every death she would die again in the coming days. There was a soft ripping noise.

"Easy, there,” Nick said, a calming hand on her shoulder. She eased her grip on the handkerchief. “You’ll probably wanna redirect that anger towards the Institute.”

“I’m– I’m picking guns and– and– and bottlecaps from dead people, Nicky, I–” She looked at him, wide-eyed, and slid out of his grasp. “How am I supposed to take care of Shaun here? Now? By myself? There’s raiders and mutants and wild irradiated animals and– I… was more worried about Hancock’s face than I was about him stabbing a guy. That’s not how a mother’s supposed to think.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m supposed to teach him to kill people? Look him in the eye and tell him I decked  _Mr. Kellogg_  and then shot him in his fucking face?”

Had the detective had lungs, he would certainly be sighing by now. He adjusted is hat, eyes scanning the small entry room before settling back on her. “You’ve had a rough go, I know. Seeing the end, losing your husband and son, crawling out of that vault – all that must have felt like, what, twenty minutes? An hour at most?”

She had been convinced there weren’t people alive at all for the first day and a half until she found Preston and what remained of his people.

He nodded his head, reading her expression. “Chills you, thinking how close we almost got to the end of the world, doesn’t it? But we’re all here. Listen – Commonwealth’s a mess, no doubt about it, with a lot of nasty characters. We gotta do some things to survive, to get your boy back. But you’re no murderer. You know damn well Kellogg would’ve killed you if you hadn’t fought back. And–“

"Nicky –” Dee began.

“–  _And_ –” he continued, hand raised in placation. “You’re not alone. We’re in this together, alright?”  

She fell silent, considering the torn handkerchief in her hands, and let the words sink in.

Every day was a fight to get Shaun back, and that alone resulted in challenge after challenge. But it wasn’t just that. It was a million smaller tasks – food, water, a safe place to stay. Finding these things in the presence of other people, because being alone in the Wasteland would get you killed damn quick. But not the wrong kinds of people because that was just as bad. Money, weapons, ammunition, safe food, clean water. The deals and counter-deals it took to get anything done because you did it yourself or not at all. Piper had helped. Nick had helped. But she’d been under the assumption these were temporary things; that ultimately, they would go back to tending to their own survival and she would have to do the same on her own.

Nick was saying – had proven several times over – that this was not so. She exhaled and nodded slowly. “Okay. Together.”

“Right. So – stay in there. I was worried for a while. You weren’t even tearing up. Most folks, whoever they are and wherever they come from… they cry a little sooner. I can find you if someone grabs you, but it’s you that’s gotta bring yourself back if you vanish while your body’s still around.” He tilted his head, peering at her from under his hat until she met his eyes and he made sure she understood.

“I miss Ryan,” she admitted, lowering her gaze again. “I miss him so much.” They had been married, sure, but they had been friends long before and long after that. Her only friend, really. She popped the tape out of the Pip-Boy and cradled it in her hands for a moment.

“I’d be more worried if you didn’t miss him.” Golden eyes tracked the tape as it vanished back into her pocket.

When it was sealed away again, she felt less like her seams were being stretched too far. Her boundaries were re-established. With another nod, she straightened again. “I hope you have more handkerchiefs stowed away in that coat of yours. Which I’m sorry for just snotting all over, by the way.”

He gave a short laugh; it was a dry sound, but not at all mechanical. “I’ve gotten worse out of this thing. Now super mutants – those are tough to wash out. Had to scrap at least two nice jackets thanks to them.”

Her smile was a little wider this time. It was still difficult to do and expended the last reserves of her energy, but they both needed to see that she could. Perhaps, eventually, she might even laugh. But the ground was still under her feet even after she admitted to at least one of her failures, and that was all she dared ask for right now.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I should see if Doctor Amari has any more advice to give me. And then I honestly hope I never have to step in here again.”

“I’m not sure people come in here 'cause they want to,” Nick said, but gave a firm nod. “I’m still… cleaning up some functions. You talk and I’ll wait for you here.”

Dee raised her eyebrows. “Need me to fiddle with any wires back there?”

He snorted. “I’d rather you didn’t. Now go on.”

Reluctantly, Dee shuffled back across the Den and down the steps where Amari was waiting.

 

* * *

 

 

By Nick’s expression, it was clear he didn’t think any more of the flimsy plan than Dee did. “I guess there’s only so much more we can plan out and account for.”

She half-shrugged. “If Dogmeat could track Kellogg, this will have to do, right? Believe me, if I could radio the scientist in advance, I would.”  

He leaned forward onto his elbows. “There’s one other part that concerns me.”

“Just the one? Nice.”

He ignored the sarcasm and studied her, gold eyes running from crown to shoulder to elbow, then back to her face, as if scanning for fresh injury. “I’ve been going between Diamond City and Goodneighbor for years – I know the routes and people know not to mess around with the synth. Are you gonna be able to get back safely? If you get nabbed or shot here, we won’t even need to worry about the next stage.”

“Oh, no, no.” She held up a warning finger. “No. Don’t do that, Nicky.”

He raised a metal brow.

“You’re looking at me like I’m some… Vault-Dweller ingenue. I’m not. I come from before the war, but it’s not like I don’t have common sense. I can hold my own.”

“I know that. But once you get out there, everyone’s gonna know what you’re carrying is all I’m saying. People talk about their sales and who’s buying what – it’ll paint an even bigger target on your back than that blue suit does.” Fingers flitted across the brim of his hat anxiously.

She wanted his concerns to be unfounded, but they weren’t. Boston was a veritable warzone with too many enemy territories. The ring was one thing. It had rules, laws of engagement… a referee. Barring something going hideously wrong, you weren’t going to die. Maybe get a little brain damage, but you’d live. There was no such thing here. Kellogg had been a challenge on his own, and she was solid against a single opponent. The raiders entrenched in the city were ten and twenty at a time, and even dad’s lessons with a gun hadn’t covered swarming bands of irradiated assholes.

But that kind of doubt would make everything harder than she needed it to be right now, so she folded her arms again and raised her head stubbornly. “I’ve saved your… ass… circuits… or whatever you have, more than once. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you’re clever,” he said quietly, eyes gleaming. “I just wanna know you’ll be careful, too.”

She sighed and stood, pacing the small room to the shabbily curtained window and back to the table. “I will. I have to be. My b– my son needs me.”

He was no longer a baby, after all. He was ten. But either way, he needed his mother.

Nick gave her a firm nod, more for his own benefit than for hers. “Alright. I’ll have to trust that. You’ve already adjusted faster than I did, but just… don’t get cocky, kid.” The frown shifted slowly into another small smile. “I’ll go back and wait for you outside the Diamond City gate in three days. But if I don’t see you then, we’re coming back with Dogmeat.”

She returned the smile. “Sounds fair.”

Nick’s chair scraped as he stood. He fixed his hat one last time and shuffled to the door to unlock it. Dee moved to give him a hug. It was still simple (and his coat still moist from her earlier sobbing). No patting. Just a firm hug.

“Take care,” she said.

“Eyes sharp. There’s worse places than Goodneighbor, but that’s not exactly high praise.”

“Yeah, I noticed the local insurance provider was pretty questionable.”

That put both their smiles right, and he left before either could start doubting again. Dee checked the hallway, warily eyeing the man passed out on the floor, and closed the door as soon as the detective was down the stairwell. The lock wasn’t secure in the least so she lodged one of the chairs under the knob. The rooftops were surer paths than the streets, warranting a mine by each of the windows and the curtains pulled closed. The caps went back in their steel case with the padlock closed. Her hand brushed the bottle of whiskey next to it that she’d found in a store safe en route. Good brand, too. She’d been meaning to save it as emergency disinfectant but –

Gunfire cracked in a street not far enough away. She pulled her hand back and zipped up the bag, stowing it beneath the slumping bed.

The room smelled like death. And sweat. And a number of other excretions. But mostly, mainly, of death. Not like bodies and rot, but like an attic untouched since the owners died years ago. Her attic. She’d risen from beneath the ground like some frozen corpse and now walked her dusty attic. The world was both familiar and so desperately different. Everything new and modern was now old and crumbling; it had taken her a full day to realize Diamond City was in Fenway Park.

And now she was going to walk into the dead middle of the blast zone of the nuclear bomb that destroyed her reality. Even with the power suit they’d been lugging around and all the RadAway she could carry, it was immensely stupid. But who else would do it? No one she could trust. With Ryan gone, there was no one  _to_  trust. Nick was the closest she could get to family out here, but she was under no illusions: he was a synth. A good one. A kind one. One who’d helped her bash in Kellogg’s skull. She trusted him a good amount and had agreed that she would trust him a while yet. But he was still subject to a warranty if the Institute decided to claim it.

With that final comforting thought, she kicked her boots to the floor and lay back, the ten-millimeter pistol gleaming in the empty spot beside her. Because that was what you did here; you slept with a loaded gun next to you, to drift off to the moans of strung out denizens. To not-so-distant shouts and gunfire.


	2. Local Politics

Bargaining was not going well. While Dee had never been particularly proficient at haggling, preferring to find a place she liked and be a steady repeat customer, she had hoped the end of the world would bolden her. Instead she stumbled over her offers and her voice faded quickly. The one stall she’d managed to raise her voice in had shoo’d her off and she was growing antsy with the fear that she’d have to resort to something else. RadAway was precious to people on the move, which everyone in Goodneighbor seemed to be. Its preventative cousin, Rad-X, was even more expensive. While it was cheaper than the doctor in Diamond City had it, it was still not as cheap as the recreational chems.

 _If only Mentats could stop radiation_ , she mused as she gnawed on roasted squirrel too burnt to have any particular flavor. A relief, in fact; she wasn’t keen on finding out what squirrel actually tasted like.

She wiped her hands on her already stained Vault 111 suit and dropped the stick to the ground. It wouldn’t harm the environment. The environment was plenty harmed already.

Dee kept her head down as she hefted her pack to her shoulder. She’d give it another two hours of haggling, maybe dropping her sad story on someone who looked sympathetic enough. Supposedly one of those wrinkled folks – ghouls – was from before the war – maybe they’d care. If her persistence didn’t pay off, then she’d get as much as she could tomorrow, head back to Diamond City the day after, and come what may. If she got sick, she’d get sick. There weren’t many other options and the longer she delayed, the farther away Shaun would be.

She gazed sullenly at the market, such as it was – shabby shacks and flimsy awnings where no one seemed truly invested in hawking. The uncomfortable sensation of uncanny valley was strong; she’d seen this place before.  The Old State House museum was still miraculously intact, but its smaller streets… It was like staring at a collage with pictures of different things cut out and pasted haphazardly. Debris untouched, a new and misshapen life built directly on top of it.

And there was a quiet she didn’t usually see in markets; everyone seemed content to let people go where they needed to go, even if that meant another shop. After all, there would be no shortage of people who needed the comfort of chems. But credit where credit was due – for all the terrible things she had been expecting after her violent welcome to Goodneighbor, no one had pulled a knife or a gun on her since her welcoming committee.

“Hey. You.”

But there was still time.

Dee peered up, not quite lifting her head. A ghoul was leaning against the corner of an unlit building. The late afternoon sun spilled weakly on her wig. She rasped, her voice worse than Mayor Hancock’s. “Yes, you. You’re the one looking for huge amounts of rad chems, right?”

The human nodded slowly. Word sure got around fast.

She waved her hand. “C'mere. Got a deal for you. Better than these drugged up tools.”

Dee stepped closer, but stopped just shy of the alley itself. “You don’t really think I step into dark streets with strangers, do you?” Her tone was sarcastic but a light quaver betrayed her nerves.

The ghoul rolled her pale eyes. “I don’t want your money, Vault-Dweller.”

Now she stepped quickly backwards. “Right. Free rad chems.  _Totally_ believable.”

“No!” she snapped. “An exchange of labor. I can’t talk about it out here. If you want them, follow me. If not –” She shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Dee glanced around, the weight of her caps in her sack heavy. It would be worth at least hearing out, no? It’s not as if anyone else in the market was going anywhere. Pistol loose in Piper’s borrowed holster for easy drawing, she followed the ghoul. The dimness of the backstreet was alleviated by a single flickering light on the walls. The ghoul led her to the end of it, where a door stood closed.

“Alright. Good.” She turned to face Dee. “Name’s Bobbi. Bobbi No-Nose.”

Dee’s mouth opened of its own accord, before she even had a chance to realize the danger of letting it flap in a backalley in junkietown.

“Don’t do it. Don’t make a nose joke.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

The ghoul smiled, skin around her lips and cheeks curling and bunching more like that of a hairless cat than a human. Dee tried hard to focus on a point between her eyes rather than gawp at the desiccated flesh.  _It’s rude to stare_ , she reminded herself.  _Don’t stare at the irradiated people_. It wasn’t gross when they weren’t biting her and trying to kill her – these ghouls weren’t… oozing. She’d heard some people in Diamond City express disgust, but it was only scar tissue, really. It just so happened to be all over them. Bobbi unnerved her – but for reasons entirely unrelated to her skin problem.

“You take orders. Good.” Dee’s frown grew. Bobbi leaned against the doors, folding her arms again. “Here’s the details: we’re getting goods under Diamond City. Boxes and boxes of stuff sitting idle. McDonough won’t miss it.”

Dee stared at the ghoul. Her expression was hard to read beneath the cracked lumps of skin. She waited another few seconds. “That constitutes an explanation?” she asked when no further details were forthcoming.

“You want the chems or not?”

“I’m not assaulting Diamond City!” Dee hissed.

Bobbi’s eyes rolled again. “It’s not an assault.” She turned to push open the doors, ushering Dee into the dark building. “We’re gonna come up from the ground _into_  the storage, make with the stuff, and they’ll never be the wiser.”

Dee stared at the ghoul in dawning recognition. Just because the Boston she knew was no longer there didn’t mean its infrastructure had become unrecognizable. Diamond City was built over Fenway Park. Digging up under it wouldn’t be too difficult, if they had the right tools. Question was, what tools did they have?

“How long is this going to take us? I don’t have all month.”

The sharp smile returned, this time with even more teeth. “Less than a day.”

Dee snorted so hard that it scraped her throat. “Yeah, right.”

Bobbi gestured, her hand cutting the air with impatience. “It’s a robot gonna be doing the digging for us. Sonic. Precision.”

“Let’s say I buy it,” Dee said, squinting. After all, artificial intelligence was made flesh now; surely there were robots that could use sonic waves to collapse dirt. “What do you need me for?”

“Protection. You  _can_ use those guns you got strapped on?”

 _That_ sounded more like the Wasteland she was coming to understand: everyone needed a hand with a gun. “Pretty well. Even if it’s not that great, it’s better than anyone else in this town. ‘Least I can see straight.”

Bobbi’s chuckle surprised Dee. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll shoot themselves in the foot in trying to prove you wrong.” She sobered quickly. “So are you in?”

It was incredibly likely that this was a lie or a joke – but she didn’t know enough to figure out what the ghoul would achieve by deceiving her. There were much better ways to rob her if it was the caps she wanted. And she was the veritable bottom of the Wasteland food chain at this point, not worth manipulating and tricking.

Suspicion was exhausting and the prospect of having to argue with yet more people about prices was even worse. She shook her head in disbelief at herself. “Alright, I guess I am. Show me.”

 

* * *

 

Three and a half hours and many tunnels later, they entered what was, according to Bobbi, the final room. Dee was grateful to see the end of the bowels of Boston. She had knocked her head somewhere along the way and twisted something in her left leg that made it painful to put all her weight down; not impossible, but painful. Her glasses were a lost cause, too, a crack running across the right lens and the whole left covered in mud. The radioactive icing on top was the rather thick coating of mirelurk guts she had on every inch of her. The storeroom and her release from this job could not come soon enough.

Mel expressed his doubts about their location, but Dee herself was quite lost and the map on her Pip-Boy was impossible to read with all the interference. Worse, the tunnels and metro tracks they passed through were untouched for so long, they were still irradiated. It slowed the group down every time Dee had to dry heave in a corner until the nausea passed.

Infuriatingly, Mel seemed unaffected once they left the worst behind, while she still got waves of dizziness even long after the Geiger counter had gone still.  _Go through radiation to get the medication that will fix the radiation damage_ , she thought.  _That’s fucked up_.

But whatever doubts about their location that Mel was having, she couldn’t share them. The chance that this could go sideways would mean that she was spattered in mirelurk guts and feral ghoul drool for nothing.

Bobbi briskly indicated a patch of ceiling to Mel as he came through. “Here. Get your robot to blow this section.”

Mel frowned even as he recalibrated the robot’s antennae to point up. “Bobbi… Are you sure about this?”

The ghoul’s eyes gleamed eagerly. “Yes. We can get up through here. There ain’t no other way.”

“Alright,” Mel said with a frown. “Everyone stand clear.”

They piled back into their entry tunnel and waited for the robot’s sonic pulse. She still didn’t get how it worked, but it seemed to be doing the trick. A shudder passed over Dee as the robot charged and then released its pulse. As in the last twenty times, the pulse rendered them deaf for a few seconds, then sparked brightly. She recovered from it just in time to watch a chunk of the ceiling fall in directly over the robot, crushing it with a final mechanical wail. Mel cried out in dismay behind her and lunged towards it, but was stopped short by Dee’s arm.

“Wait. Let’s make sure it’s done falling, or you gonna join it.”

He made a noise of protest, but didn’t move. Sure enough, in ten seconds, another section collapsed inward, sending a beam crashing down diagonally. They gave it another full minute to settle and stop rumbling before Dee pulled her arm back and Mel charged to dig out the remains of his friend.

Dee climbed up the unstable new ramp, shuffling slowly in case she needed to jump off quick. “This… looks like a cellar,” she said. Old machinery in barely-functional condition lined the walls – a boiler, some kind of generator. The alarm bell in her mind she’d been trying to drown out since she first walked down the alley grew louder. Why would an underground storeroom need a cellar?

Bobbi stepped through next. “Let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

“I thought we had lots of time,” Dee muttered as she scanned the room, “since no one knows we’re here.” But she scanned the space obediently, prodding her rifle into each shadowy corner. All seemed quiet so she called, “Clear!”

The ghoul got her bearings and motioned towards the only door in the room. Dee lined up ahead of her, rifle raised and pressed into her shoulder. With a single nod, Bobbi yanked open the door for her to reveal a set of steps leading up into darkness. The Pip-Boy had a light, but if there was anything or anyone in the room above, she would immediately be seen. On light feet, she moved up the stairs, eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness.

“See anything?” Bobbi whispered behind her.

The human was starting to shake her head. “Not yet,” she called over her shoulder softly.

Suddenly the warehouse lights all switched on at once, brighter than anything she’d seen all month. Dee dropped low immediately to avoid being hit by anything in the blindness following the abrupt flash of light, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Hello, Bobbi,” a voice said lightly. It sounded human and rough, and so very annoyed. “And – the Vault Dweller. Hancock’s gonna find this _real_  interesting.”

Bobbi swore loudly and repeatedly, while Dee’s heart sank all the way to the base of her stomach. She chanced opening her eyes but it was still too bright.

“Bobbi, where the fuck are we?” she demanded.

“Exactly where I said we’d be!” she whispered, her voice moving as she began to move back down the steps.

“Bobbi. I’m not going to ask you again,” Dee said, voice rising in panic. “Where _are_ we?”

“You’re in Goodneighbor,” the voice said, directly behind Dee, “robbing Mayor Hancock.”

Dee spun and pressed herself against the stairwell wall so as to not present her exposed back to Bobbi.

Her vision slowly adjusted to the lights. A tall woman wrapped head to toe in the local style of armor approached, holding a submachine gun with easiness that suggested a hell of a lot of live practice. Behind her there were crates, but also derelict train cars. “Name’s Fahrenheit. Hancock’s bodyguard.” She looked down the stairwell. “Come out of your hole, Bobbi, you molerat. And Mel, too.”

The pair scrambled up one after the other, arms up, Mel scowling at Bobbi but still throwing concerned glances over his shoulder.

“You really should pick better company, Mel,” the woman said.

“I’m getting the feeling your right,” he answered sullenly.

After a quick look over the three, Fahrenheit deemed them no danger and turned to the other gunmen.

Bobbi took the moment to lean over to Dee and whisper, “We can take them!”

Dee turned to stare at Bobbi, giving her a wide-eyed glare. “Are you serious right now? There’s like twenty of them!”

“We made it this far. We can take a few goons.”

Had Dee anticipated anything of the sort, she might have agreed. Fahrenheit didn’t look all that much more dangerous than Kellogg, and the train cars offered plenty of cover. But she had been duped and had no guarantee anything Bobbi claimed had been true. Plus, Kellogg hadn’t had so many extra bodies between her and him. This had been a waste of time. A waste of time, a waste of ammo. “I’m not helping you do shit.”

“It’s the same thing!” Bobbi insisted. “Hancock, McDonough, why does it matter? The shit’s still sitting here, doing nothing, and Hancock’s still on his smug ass, also doing nothing.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the immensity of her own stupidity settled in. “We’re gonna get stabbed so much.”

Of  _course_  free stuff was too good to be true. This had been a heist, some vendetta, and Bobbi had needed a patsy that wouldn’t know what to look for. And Dee had handed herself over on a desperate blue-and-yellow platter. The nuclear blast must have fried her brain cells.

It was hard to tell if the warehouse was truly stocked with any of what the ghoul had promised. It was all stored away, probably in the train cars themselves. The local muscle was lined up in front of the doors and across the walkways above, making it hard to gauge from the stairwell just how much of it was even there.

“I wouldn’t make any more deals with her, if I were you,” their leader said, turning back to the three. “And don’t bother with the gun you’re trying to pull out, Bobbi. You can’t take all of us. Not alone, anyway.” She looked steadily at Dee. “What’s it gonna be, Vault Girl?”

Dee didn’t hesitate and dropped her rifle, holding her arms up. “Fuck that.”

The mayor’s bodyguard smiled, and then began to laugh. “Smart. Mel, you can go. Bobbi – let’s go have a chat with the mayor.”

Something flashed across Bobbi’s face, but if she had been considering grabbing the dropped gun, she quickly changed her mind. Her shoulders slumped and she glared sourly at Fahrenheit. “Let’s get this over with.”

Fahrenheit lifted Dee’s weapon, giving it a once-over and nodding appreciatively – then handed it back to her. Dee took it hesitantly. “I don’t suggest hanging around for long. Either go pay respects in person or get out of town.”

“Am… I in trouble?” Dee ventured.

“You didn’t know. If you had, you’d be as screwed as No-Nose.”

“Hancock… holds grudges,” Mel sighed as he slowly took the steps back down to find his crushed robot. “This is the last time I trust you, Bobbi!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get over it,” the ghoul shot back.

“So you’re clear. But it’d be polite to look your mark in the face, don’t you think?” Fahrenheit asked in a voice that made no room for argument. Dee gave a resigned nod.

She and her team led them out of the warehouse and across a couple of Goodneighbor alleyways to the State House. Bobbi had certainly kept them busy for no reason. How many of those mirelurks had wound up being just exercise? She’d paid for her gullibility with the cuts, bruises, and what was probably a sprain.

They were led up the side entrance. The inside was not what she had seen before but was far better than she had anticipated now. Some of the glass display cases were still there, albeit empty, but most were broken or simply removed, making space for more seating. Mattresses lined the walls of the hallways and rooms, occupied by weary looking people. The group walked past a large room with a few sets of double doors. At its front, a few people who looked like the toughs leading them around – the same air of meaning business – were distributing cans of food to the shuffling drifters inside. Dee craned her neck to keep watching until they were past the doors.

Bobbi was glaring at her when she turned back, pale eyes biting.

“Problem?” Dee snapped.

The ghoul shook her head and didn’t answer.

The story was repeated throughout the building – folk scattered throughout the rooms, eating food, getting high, or sleeping on plain mattresses. Chems were passed around freely, even offered to the security grunts. Beyond that, the building was quiet and oddly clean besides the occasional paraphernalia kits scattered across the floors. Goodneighbor just got more inscrutable by the hour.

Hancock was in a moderately sized room with cushioned seats and a relatively intact sofa in the middle. Kits and boxes of Mentats were stacked on the coffee table. The mayor was hovering over a small stack of papers, engrossed in his reading. Dee wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see in the office of the ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbor, but it wasn’t reading.

He looked up as they entered, eyeing each of the women, and smiled broadly. He nodded at the guards and most dispersed, save Fahrenheit. Dee squinted at the papers he set down. PUBLICK OCCURRENCES was scrawled across the top in Piper’s reporter handwriting.

“Well, if it ain’t Bobbi No-Nose. Didn’t realize you were getting into construction and city planning,” he said. “And – the Vault Girl! You know, Bobbi’s a real serious drop in quality from Nick Valentine. Should'a stuck with the synth. Had more personality and brains than this one.”

Dee stared at him mutely, afraid that if she opened her mouth she might throw up; the fear and radiation sickness had bundled together and sat in the back of her throat as bile.

Hancock’s smile faded. “Hey, Fahrenheit. Get Vault Girl a bucket, could you? And maybe some water. She’s not looking too good.”

The bodyguard snorted, muttering something about Dee’s flimsy constitution, and stomped out. Hancock gave Dee a final frown before turning to Bobbi.

“Bobbi – digging under my storeroom? Really?” The mayor leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what to say. It would have been clever, though– if it hadn’t also been fucking  _loud_.”

The woman scowled. “You  _would_ hear it, with your face plastered to the floor all the time.”

He looked back at Dee and gave her a beleaguered look. “I try and I try…”

“You don’t do  _shit_.”

The words seemed to spin him right back to her. “What did you think you were gonna accomplish?” He paused, then asked in an amused tone, “Did  _you_ wanna be mayor?” He plucked his giant tricorn hat off his head and deposited it onto hers. “There you go. Happy?”

She yanked it off and threw it down. “I was gonna make you look like a real fool.” The seriousness in her tone sobered him. “Everyone’s so  _enamored_ with you, or else damn afraid.” She raised her chin, eyes glittering in the lamplight. “You ain’t even a real ghoul.”

Dee scrunched her shoulders, bracing herself for what would surely result in a knife to the stomach. Hancock was smiling again. It was faint, not the full, beaming smile he’d given them before.

He stooped to grab his hat. Made a show of dusting it off and setting it back on his head. “Wanted to show me what’s good, huh?”

“Don’t care what you see. Just wanted to show everyone else you aren’t impenetrable. And just so you know, the fact that I couldn’t do it doesn’t mean it ain’t possible.”

“Oh, I know that.”

He came around the table, each step clicking loudly on the ancient hardwood. Bobbi was taller than him and seemed doubly so as she refused to crumple under his approach.

“I feel you, Bobbi. I really do.” He stopped directly in front of her. “But you didn’t think this through and that’s disappointing. Could’ve been  _real_  fun if you had. Weird choice in teammates, though. Mel, I can understand. Good guy. Smart.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But the Vault Dweller? Pliable and not local, so no loyalties… but no experience either.”

Dee pressed a hand hand against her own forehead. Definitely some local politics. Maybe she should have visited later.

Bobbi was laughing. “You kidding? Best choice I ever made. Wish I’d had her muscle for a bunch of other jobs. Girl wrecked every-damn-thing down there. Tore open a mirelurk with her shovel. Could probably give your guard dog a run for her money.”

Hancock threw a questioning glance over his shoulder. “Really? That so?”

Dee gave what she hoped was a neutral stare, but the shaking probably mitigated a good portion of it. Being five feet, three inches, and covered in muck probably didn’t help, either. With the vault suit hiding all her muscle, she looked nothing like someone who had cracked a mirelurk in half.

“Shame she threw it away. Do you even know half of what’s going on around here?” Bobbi shouted to Dee.

“You know, Bobbi, I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me all that much,” Hancock said loudly, drawing Bobbi’s attention back to him. “But that don’t matter to me. ‘Cause the storehouses you were blasting your way to aren’t mine. They’re Goodneighbor’s.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” she scoffed. “I know you keep your records in there. The caps were just icing.”

“The storehouses are there for a reason,” he continued was if she hadn’t spoken. “So since you messed around with the community’s reserves, you get to make it up to  _them_.”

Bobbi sighed and rolled her eyes. “Can you get on with it?”

He pointed a finger at Bobbi, wagging it thoughtfully. “I think there’s gonna be a town meeting for you. Ask the people what they think about one of their own stealing from them.”

Bobbi made a show of groaning. “Spare me the song and dance, Hancock.”

The mayor pressed his face within an inch of Bobbi’s, the rim of his hat nudging her wig back several centimeters. “Be careful what you wish for, Bobbi.”

Fahrenheit stepped back into the room, noisily slamming the door open, and tossed the bucket at Hancock and shoved a bottle of water into Dee’s hands. “No one’s gonna give me a run for my money.”

Dee stared at the bottle in surprise. Pure water. Bottled. Unopened, still in its seal. Not the dirty, nauseating stream waters she’d been drinking.

Hancock took a step back from Bobbi and glanced back at the sickly human. “I dunno – keep an eye on that one.”

She ignored him, twisting the cap off with a snap. Water dribbled down her chin as she inhaled half the bottle before nearly choking.  It was warmer than room temperature, but that didn’t matter so long as it was clean.

“Oh, yeah,” the bodyguard said. “I feel so threatened.”

He grinned. Then he nodded towards Bobbi. “Take her down to eat, and then we’ll see about some good old… justice.”

With his final decree made, the tension in the room seemed to leak out. The two women glowered at each other as Fahrenheit led the ghoul out. Hancock gave a solid nod and shut the door behind them.

“Alright,” he sighed and handed the metal bucket to Dee as he passed her. “If you’re gonna puke, do it in there.”

She turned it a few times and then put it down, wrinkling her nose. The smell of it was making her more sick than she already was.

He made a round of the room, then paced back around to her. “You got some interesting ideas on what a guest-host relationship looks like. Here’s a hint.” He leaned forward so he was eye level with her. His pupils were large, almost consuming his eye. The lack of iris was even more unnerving than Bobbi’s ice-like gaze. “Stealing’s not on the list of trust-building exercises.”

Dee shut her eyes, trying not to smell his breath. “I didn’t know,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. Only when his boots clicked away did she open her eyes and risk a breath.

“Yeah, she got you good. Needed a patsy for her crap, and what do you know? Vault-Tec provides.”

He slumped down onto his sofa and opened his coat. Dee flinched as his hand dipped into a hidden pocket. He froze, then removed his hand slowly, pointedly, to reveal a worn, rectangular metal tin. MENTATS was printed across the top, though more faded than the other boxes on the table. He flicked it open.

Dee cleared her throat. “Do you have to– Can you not?” she said.

Hancock paused, small, bright red pill halfway to his mouth. “Say again?”

She waved a hand at him. “The drugs. Can you not, while we’re talking? Save it for later? Or something?”

He squinted at her, leaning forward to examine her as if he was waiting for her to tell him she was only kidding.

“I know chems are big here, but you were sober when you were yelling at Bobbi so I’d like you to be sober when talking to me.” The word ‘please’ was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it, refusing to make herself subordinate in what was a perfectly reasonable request.

He let out a rasping laugh and popped the pill into his mouth. “Sister, who said I was sober?”

Dee exhaled and pressed her sticky hands to her face under her glasses. It took several seconds to swallow the urge to scream. Or maybe cry. She dragged her hands down, leaving a trail of goop down her nose. With a tremulous sigh, she removed her glasses. It wasn’t as if she could see clearly with the smudges and the cracks anyway. When people were blurry, they were easier to look at when talking, their expressions lost to vague impressions of light and shadow.

“Is this normal around here? The mayor being high?” she asked. “Everyone’s okay with this?”

He spread his arms, shoulders bobbing in a shrug. There was growing impatience in the motion. “That’s how Goodneighbor works. You gotta have trust in your leadership, and people trust  _me_ because I know what their lives are like. That includes the chems.”

The words  _Bobbi didn’t seem to trust you much_  were a single inhalation away. Her eyes slid shut again. She shook her head.  _Don’t start anything you can’t finish. Not now._  “Fine. Whatever. Get high,” she sighed. “I’m just here to… make sure you’re good with me.”

Hancock threw out a hand towards her. “I’m waiting on you, Vault Girl. I still haven’t heard an apology, let alone an explanation.“

"You said it yourself, I was Bobbi’s tool. I had no idea.” Apologizing  _had_ been her intention, if only to smooth things over, but his tone was grating her. Mayor or not, he was talking to her like she was an idiot. She shrugged, brows arched, expression set in a challenge. “I don’t want anything to do with the local politics.”

“And yet you were in my basement, getting involved in the local politics.”

“I didn’t–” she started again, exasperated.

“I get that you were clueless. That’s part of how Bobbi operates and usually the reward makes up for the risk in that. But didn’t you stop to  _think_  for a few seconds about what you would actually be doing? Didn’t Valentine tell you  _anything_? I’m trying to look out for you, here, but you need to pay attention to shit, and Bobbi’s obvious trouble.”

 _He_  was telling  _her_ to pay attention after popping a pill. The water bottle creaked in her grip at her side. “I’m new, not stupid. You think it didn’t occur to me she might be scamming me?”

She paused, tilting her head slightly. “Only she wasn’t, was she? Not entirely. There’s still medicine and stuff in there, right? But you’re all upset because the documents are there, too. So let me make it  _abundantly_ clear to you: I don’t care about the damn documents. Alright? I don’t  _care_. That’s between you, Bobbi, and Goodneighbor.”

“If you think I’m upset about some papers…” he started.

“I get it, that’s how you run it. Of the people, for the people– until the people cross you.  _Whatever_. If a town full of addicts is cool with the radioactive chem king making the rules…” She held up her hands. “Not my fucking business.”

The laugh was less good-natured now. “'Addicts’? What, you think ‘cause you’re ‘clean’, you’re better?”

 _Stop talking, apologize, and get the hell out,_  her brain said. But her mouth paid no attention to the warning, running ahead without her permission, words already rushing out before she even knew she was talking. “Yeah, I do! I think I’m a whole hell of a lot better than this whole fucking nuclear apocalypse, which I did  _nothing_  to deserve, and I’m  _especially_  better than a bunch of drifters patting themselves on the back for being weird!”

He was already on his feet before she’d even finished speaking. “I’m being _real_ patient with you 'cause I know you just crawled out from some Vault and still think the sun is a kind of lightbulb, but take some advice – you don’t know the rules of a place? Don’t fucking play. Goodneighbor not your style? Fine. Go back to Diamond City.”

“As if I  _want_ to stand around here bickering with every smoking tool that somehow has a shop!” 

“No one asked you to come here, and no one’s making ya stay. But, oh, wait–” He tilted his head. “You’re still here because you have business with all these  _addicts_. Because the prices in Diamond City are too damn high, am I right?”

“Yes!” she shouted, shaking. He blinked in surprise.

The water bottle let out an ominous plastic  _snap!_  and collapsed in her hand. Water began to leak onto her boot. She snapped with it and the two weeks and counting of hell came flooding out.

“Yes! Okay? Yes! You’re right! I need all the RadAway my little Vaultie arms can carry and I don’t have time to dig around for the caps! And if Bobbi had told me up-front that we’d be robbing  _you_ and there was a chance your bodyguard might have been there, I would’ve done it! I would have fought my way out if I had to and to fuck with Goodneighbor! Fuck post-nuclear Boston!” She spread her arms out in an invitation, splashing water across the wooden floor. “Go ahead, Mayor. Stab me! Show me who’s in charge.”

Hancock’s shoulders rose as he inhaled, the sound a sharp wheeze like an asthmatic. She realized her error then. Hancock, she could probably overpower. He was a little taller but the way the coat sat on him made her think he didn’t fill it out much. And they were in close quarters – she excelled at that. But then she’d have to get out of the building, and out of the town, and the rifle on her back would not be enough. 

 _Shaun_ , she thought.  _I’m going to lose Shaun because I can’t keep my temper._

Then all at once, the air rushed out of him and he sat down heavily like a deflated red balloon. “Shit. Bobbi’s right.”

There was a long silence. The thumping in her ears died down as the adrenaline eased. With it gone, she felt the ache in her hip and head and realized she was a few inches off from a fighting stance. She slowly lowered her arms.

Dare she ask to go? Or would it be best to just… leave without a word? She inhaled, opening her mouth, but was cut short by the door slamming open. Hancock sat upright and Dee whirled to face the small ghoul that had barged in.

“Mutants!” she shouted. “Super mutants coming up the west block!”


	3. The Battle of Goodneighbor

There was only a second of silence before Hancock surged from his seat, argument forgotten – or at least stored away for the moment – and yanked open a cabinet on the other side of the room. Guns lined the inside, every possible variety from rifles to pistols with corresponding canisters of ammo at the bottom and in the drawers. He strapped on a holster to his hip in seconds and stuck a well-polished shotgun in, and the ammunition attached to his leg.

All the while he spoke to the ghoul girl, brisk and clear. “Tell Fahrenheit if she doesn’t know already. Have Bobbi find Mel and tell them they have full run of the defenses, if they can get anything to fucking work. Get MacCready out of the Rail and onto the fifth floor nest. If he complains, tell him we’re paying double. But don’t mention it unless he does. Anyone who won’t fight goes to Mags and Charlie, and make sure Irma and Amari are down there. Everyone else, on the walls.”

He beckoned the girl closer. When she stepped forward, he handed her a small pistol, sized for tiny hands. Even then, it looked large. “Once you’ve made the run, go sit with Mags.” The girl’s face twisted defiantly, but he took hold of her shoulder and shook lightly. “Do you hear me? If you wanna help, stick bandages on people, alright? There’s gonna be a hell of a lot.”

She inhaled and puffed out a breath, but nodded, taking the pistol and turning to run out. At the doorway, she paused to check the clip, the motion quick and expert, then left. Hancock was packing a sack of ammunition and shoved two cased rifles in alongside. Pistols followed. A second bag, full only of ammunition. It was all practiced, like this happened regularly.

Dee opened her mouth, then swallowed. She and Nick had passed a camp of mutants on the way to Goodneighbor. He’d told her they were dangerous and territorial, to avoid them at all costs, and she hadn’t pressed for more information. The Wasteland was already too much to swallow; adding in large, green superhumans? No, thank you.

But she regretted that now. Did they have weak spots? Preferences for weapons? Now there wasn’t enough time to ask all that. _I’ll miss Finn the next Super Mutant attack rolls around,_ he’d said. She was starting to understand why the extra body mattered.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. The last of the water bottle drained itself on her boot, unnoticed.

Hancock started as if he’d forgotten she was there. She couldn’t discern his expression; it was amazing how much the human face relied on eyebrows, and he had divets and scars in place of brows; all she could discern was the dark eyes and a deep frown. “Get out of here. Go home – or whatever.” He turned towards the door.

Dee took quick steps and cut him off before the door. He wasn’t a whole lot taller than her, but it was enough to give her a dark look down the nose he didn’t have. “I got people that need me and mutants that need destroying. You’ll wanna move outta the way.”

“How? Do you want me to get killed? Mutants won’t let me pass just ‘cause I asked nicely.” Up close, she could see every scar and knotted twist.

“I don’t want you–” He cut himself off with an irritated click of his tongue. “You really wanna help all these _addicts_?”

She pressed her lips together, regretting her earlier temper but still too buzzed on the adrenaline of it to apologize. “You’re down a man, remember?”

He inhaled deeply, as if sniffing her. “Fine.”

The second cabinet, she discovered as he rifled through it, had old bits of rusted armor. He casually tossed parts out until he’d dug out what he wanted. He inspected a chest- and backplates and, deeming them acceptable, tossed them at her. She finally dropped the water bottle to catch them. This was followed by a piece of rounded metal and two bits of leather, all with corresponding straps.

“That’s all I got. You know how to get it on?” he asked.

It was foreign to her completely. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out.”

“Get on the wall somewhere when you're ready.”

Without any further comment, he swung the bags of weaponry onto his shoulder and took brisk steps out of the room. Outside, she could hear snatches of yelling – orders in Fahrenheit’s rough voice, the assaultron she’d seen on her way in announcing weapon loans (“Anything you try out tonight will get you a _hot_ discount tomorrow!”). Alarm bells went off – real bells, rapidly struck over and over. No more public service announcements on television.

Dee inspected the armor. Dark blotches covered its surface alongside rust and dents. She decided it couldn’t be worse than what she was already covered in; if she was unlucky, it’d result in tetanus. As she fumbled with the armor, she heard Hancock speaking out in the square below.

“Muties are at it again! Wailing on our walls, shootin’ at us. They don’t _ever_ fuckin’ learn, do they?”

Goodneighbor rumbled in disapproval – no, the Super Mutants never learned. _Assholes_.

“So we’re gonna do what we always do: give them the fuckin’ boot!”

A cheer rose. Dee caught herself smirking. The straps finally started to make sense and she tightened them just enough to leave no wiggle room but not to cut off her breathing.

“Muties think they’re the best? That they can run us around and stomp on us? Let 'em prove it!”

The next roar was near-deafening even through the windows.

“Have they ever broken our walls?” Hancock demanded.

_No,_ the people answered.

“Will they break them now?”

_Fuck no!_

“Damn right! Goodneighbor is our home! Goodneigbor is our sanctuary!”

A chill passed through her. She leaned out the window to watch, arm pieces dangling from her elbows.

“We’re gonna shoot them, set them on fire – whatever we have to. Why?” he demanded.

_Because Hancock said so!_ they answered, their laughter facetious and nervous.

“No!” Hancock shouted. “Tell me why!”

_Because Goodneighbor is free!_ _Goodneighbor is ours!_

The words were felt more than heard; her bones were full with the declaration, the sound shaking her joints. It was only now clear how many people lived in a few square blocks, and they pressed together, hip to hip – all gazing at their mayor. She wondered what it was like to believe in a single person like that. To have your faith affirmed time and again.

But then, the faith of the people didn’t make the man good. Lots of people belived in their government. Then the government went and dropped atomic bombs on their heads.

“Who’s gonna get their asses kicked!”

_Super mutants!_

“Who can’t they fuck with!”

_Goodneighbor!_

“Of the people!”

_For the people!_

He threw his arm skyward, and they matched him, shouts filling the night. They surged closer, the nearest pressing their fingers and palms against his boot and the hem of his coat. Never crushing each other, but always connected.

A set of warning bells cut the cheers short. They began to scatter.

She wondered how many would die that night. Belief was good, in whatever it was that kept you going. But belief couldn’t center your aim or make you strong or provide you with ballistic shielding. It was all skill and practice.

_And so much praying_. How many times had Ryan said that to the ceiling in the dark? But prayer and belief were not the same.

She strapped the remaining armor pieces on, jammed her sticky glasses back onto her face, and made her way down the steps as fast as she could.

It had taken mere moments to replace the cheers with screams and gunfire. Already people were dragging their bleeding and dying friends from the west wall. Most of the lights were out, the wall itself completely drenched in darkness to make it harder to find individuals. Makeshift turrets were poised on high points, by windows and on fire escapes, though not all seemed to be working. The last of her anger drained away and left her shaking with a numbing fear that made every motion feel like passing through frozen water.

A quick look around did not turn up Fahrenheit. Hancock was gone, too.

A space was freed on the wall as a man screamed and fell, clutching his chest. A ghoul woman ran forward and began to haul him towards the subterranean bar. She passed Dee, hard-eyed and unseeing.

Dee climbed up the ladder and into the space the man had just vacated on the wall platform. If it was bloody behind her, it was carnage below. It had only been minutes and already a number were dead, visible in flickering streetlights. Some mutants but more humans, body parts strewn like discarded toys.

Someone hurled a burning bottle. It exploded, showering the street in flames and lighting up the old junk. Fahrenheit was lit sharply, firing away with a gun almost half her size. Her forces were split into pairs, harassing individual mutants, forcing them to choose the more dangerous target, then swapping. A clever tactic, but resulted in the mutants outnumbering them.

And among them, red coat catching the light, Hancock blasted his way through and around. Whether it was skill or luck, he seemed unscathed despite being on his own. But perhaps he was not alone; a few meters behind him was the assaultron, putting final bullets into the mutants he had shotgunned the kneecaps off of.

Watching the back and forth, flashes of gunfire, the confusion and corpses– it rendered her unable to move for a long moment. Where would one begin to help?

“If you’re not gonna shoot, get off!” someone shouted next to her, barely audible through the gunfire.

The warning seemed to revive her some. Dee forced herself to a knee and lifted her rifle to brace against the top edge of the wall. The fires from the cocktail outlined vague shadows of super mutants along the fire escapes of adjacent buildings. For so large a target, less than two hundred yards away, she didn’t need more than that.

Taking aim, she selected a mutant on the fire escapes firing downward onto the ground forces. An uncertainty about the nature of a mutant gave her pause – was there a person there? They looked human-like. What made them different from ghouls? Did it matter here, now? The expert pistol prep of the ghoul girl came back to her. This world was more selective about its survivors.

She fired, pretending it was a shooting range on a Sunday evening with dad. It definitely hit, because the mutant recoiled – but he remained upright. Dee pulled her face away from the gun, frowning. A shot like that would have knocked down a human. She aimed again. It was scanning the wall, trying to find the culprit. She fired, twice in a row this time. Any yelling was drowned out by the fighting, but he collapsed and did not rise again.

She was on her fourth target, trying to remember if she needed to reload her clip soon, when the person to the right jerked suddenly, blood spraying the side of Dee’s face. She blinked in confusion and turned to watch the woman struggle to stay upright. Another bullet hit her, this time in the face. Dee closed her eyes against the second spray. _Ryan, is this what it was like?_

A hand pushed down on her shoulder, shoving her behind cover.

“Duck, you moron!”

She looked blankly through fresh blood spatters at the woman to her left. Another ghoul.

“Don’t worry about other people!” she shouted. “Try not to get dead!”

Dee shook her head, uncomprehending.

The ghoul scowled and turned away. “Fucking Diamond City numbnuts,” she said, and ignored Dee, peering over the edge for incoming fire.

The woman to her right had been dragged off by the time Dee looked back around. Someone else was taking her place. The gunfire was overwhelmingly loud and her vision was blurring even up close. She forced her lungs to expel as much air as possible before taking a deep breath.

A pair of the turrets exploded in a flash of fire, shaking her. She tried again to exhale and inhale. When she felt less in danger of passing out, she raised her head over the edge.

A blurry, blinking red light caught her eye. Far down the street, in the darkness beyond the fighting. It was bright enough to reflect off chunks of metal from the exposed building structures. She blinked, wondering if she wasn’t stress hallucinating, but found it was still there.

Blindly, she reached to her left and grabbed the ghoul’s shoulder.

“What’s that light?” she asked. Her hand was slapped away. She tried again, louder. “That light? That blinking red light?”

The woman caught on and lowered her gun. She squinted out into the street where Dee was pointing – then her eyes widened.

“Oh, shit. Suicider!” she shouted at the wall. “Get the bell! Suicider! There’s a suicider up the street!”

The shout was repeated up and down the line and seconds later, bells began to ring again, cutting through the sound of gunfire. Below, Fahrenheit’s forces began a half-disciplined regroup towards the center. People rushed for the ladders.

“Wh- what?” Dee yelled. “What is that? A suicider?”

“Green bastard with a mini nuke!” the woman shouted, and shoved past her for the ladder.

Dee whipped back around, trying to locate the light again, but it was gone. Could it already have made it here?

Fahrenheit and some of her people were holding a small area outside the gate, waiting for the assaultron and Hancock to get back. The robot moved at twice the speed and sprinted past the mayor, entering the relative safety of the gate. Hancock was a little slower and he’d lost his hat somewhere in the rush.

A mutant swiped at his head and just barely missed. Hancock turned, snarling, and blasted the mutant’s incoming hand clear off the wrist. Fahrenheit grabbed him and shoved him behind her, taking a blow from the super mutant’s other hand on her hunched shoulder. She must have been immensely strong to remain upright.

The mutant’s head popped like a balloon as he raised his remaining hand again. Fahrenheit turned and looked overhead. Dee followed her gaze. The outline of a rifle was faintly visible, popping out of the fire escape on the fifth floor.

Below, Fahrenheit was dragging at hatless Hancock by the arm while the super mutants casually retreated to linger at a distance still too close for comfort.

Hancock was lunging for something but his bodyguard hauled him through the gate. Dee peered over the back of the wall. She couldn’t hear what Fahrenheit said but it silenced him.

“What’s going on?” Dee called, leaning off the platform over the emptied courtyard.

Hancock turned rapidly, trying to find the source of the voice, until he remembered to look up the wall. “The hell are you doing up there?” he demanded. “Get into shelter with everyone else. Suicider’s coming.”

“What does that _mean_? I have very specific memories of a nuke, Mayor, and nothing but a Vault did anything to stop it.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “This is a miniature. Quarter of a block radius, plus debris for another quarter, and bonus rads for weeks. It ain’t gonna wipe us out and it ain’t gonna flatten our walls, but if we don’t get in, it _will_ wipe _us_.”

“That’s not true,” said Fahrenheit quickly. “We never got a chance to fix the structural damage from the last one.”

Hancock stared at her, horror growing on his face. “The walls ain’t gonna hold?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! We have to get everyone _out_ , not in.”

Hancock ran a hand over the rough surface of his head, feeling the absence of his hat. “Shit.”

Dee shook her head. “I don’t understand – why can’t you just shoot the one carrying the nuke?”

“Because another one will just pick it up and keep going,” Fahrenheit answered with a frown, as if it were the stupidest question she’d heard.

“Like a football.” There was a pause as confusion registered on their faces. Dee shook her head. “Sorry – it’s a sport with a ball. They pass it around. Doesn’t matter.”

Fahrenheit blinked and her eyes widened in realization. “A ball – destroy the ball! We can shoot the nuke!”

“Wh– no! That’s still gonna detonate the damn thing!”

Fahrenheit sighed at her, mouth twisting into a sneer. She was cut off by Hancock, who held a placating hand up at her. “So we shoot it away from the wall. Preferably in a mass of muties, yeah?” He looked back at Fahrenheit. “Listen, start herding everyone into Bobbi’s tunnel in the storehouse. Small groups, sorted by age. Vaultie and I will find the mutant.”

The bodyguard drew herself up. She had an inch on Hancock. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, she’s – she’s carrying the big guns,” Dee said. Neither heard her.

Hancock sighed and pulled Fahrenheit into a half-hug, entirely unintimidated. “If I wind up dead, who do you think’s gonna step up? Even decent folks like Daisy would still struggle so _you_ need to be there. After all, I still got addicts that need protecting.” He didn’t look at her, but Dee sighed at him just the same.

Fahrenheit scowled but placed a hand on his bald head. “Fuck you,” she said, the words loaded with affection. Then she looked up at Dee and pointed at her almost in accusation. “Keep an eye on him. He talks big but I swear he’s got a damn death wish.”

Dee nodded hesitantly. That seemed to assure the woman and she charged off without a second look back.

“Everybody’s got an opinion today,” Hancock grumbled. He looked up at the apartment building behind the State House, shoved up against the western wall, and shoved two fingers in his mouth to produce a sharp whistle.

Someone popped out to lean over the railing of the fire escape. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is it over?”

“MacCready – what the fuck do you mean, is it over? Look around!”

“To be honest, I’m still a little drunk! So I’m kinda confused.” He gave a sheepish laugh.

“Well, I hope your aim’s still good. We’re gonna run the suicider across the street, alright? Your job is to shoot the nuke. Okay? Nothing else.”

“What the f– uh – What are you talking about?”

“Just look for the red light, alright? And shoot it. Make sure you give us some breathing room to get away.” Hancock motioned to Dee. “You – you’re coming with me.”

Fahrenheit was protecting the town – fine. But what about the assaultron, K-LE-0? Or literally anyone but her? The answer was easy: they weren’t the ones still standing up on the wall. She was.

She swung herself down onto the ladder. “Fine.”

“Not that way,” he said as she started towards the gate. “I got another exit. Though I try not to advertise it, you feel me?”

“Isn’t this one faster?” she asked.

“There’s mutants at this one? And they’re gonna shoot us? You following any of the situation at all?”

She squinted at him. “So we’re circling around. Slowly. While a green giant is running around with a miniaturized atomic bomb that he can manually detonate at any time.”

“Catching on, are ya?” he said, tossing a wink over his shoulder. He looked strange without his hat – incomplete.

The mayor led her around to the southern end of the little town and through the main floor of what looked to be another storehouse. How many did he have? What was in them? She didn’t dare ask.

They came out onto an unlit street by means of a just-large-enough vent, almost directly on top of a piece of the Freedom Trail. Feeling eerily exposed, she unstrapped her rifle from her shoulder and plugged in a fresh clip. Boston’s nightlife hadn’t exactly been her favorite, but it had been familiar. Seeing everything doused in darkness this way was unsettling. Not that Scollay Square was a hotspot at the time, but there wasn’t even a streetlight lit now.

She could run, she realized. Just bolt. Head back to Diamond City while most were distracted by the Goodneighbor versus the Super Mutants special, and leave the town and its mayor to their fate. Her muscles even tensed in anticipation of sprinting off.

_Yeah, go ahead. Leave them to the muties. You can explain to your kid later how a whole town got blasted because you fucked off at the last second._

The voice was familiar. Dee squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pin it down. If she could name the owner, she could argue with it. But it was too elusive. She knocked the side of her head with her palm instead. “Shh.”

“That’s the idea,” Hancock answered, not looking back at her.

She frowned at his back. “Why didn’t you send Fahrenheit to do this? She seemed willing.”

“Like I said – I need someone to watch my people. Don’t trust _you_ to do it. It ain’t personal, though.”

“I meant instead of _you_.”

His footsteps slowed. “Don’t send people to do shit you aren’t willing to do yourself.”

“Oh,” she said softly. She didn’t run.

They weren’t exactly sneaking around, but they were moving carefully. There was a restlessness in Hancock’s movements that made her think he didn’t do the quiet approach often. Then again, neither did she.

Hancock stopped suddenly and tapped her, pointing up at the fire escape on what used to be a flower shop (it was little things – like the broken down stands and shattered earthenware pots – that reminded her she was still on Earth, still in Boston). She pulled herself up the ladder as quietly as she could, though they were a square block northwest from the mutants. Hancock came up behind her, not nearly as quiet. Dee stopped at the uppermost landing, but he climbed past her to the roof.

“Come on,” he whispered, holding a hand out. “Better view from up here.”

She ignored the offered help and clambered up on her own. “Careful,” she warned, pointing. Several rooftops over, a pair of super mutants were visible against the night sky. If there was one thing atomic annihilation had helped, it was the view of the stars.

Hancock grunted in annoyance. “We’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly and more slowly than the enthusiastic ghoul, she followed, rifle held with her finger poised on the safety.

Commonwealth Boston was different from above. A whole new network of pathways were revealed on the rooftops and collapsed walls, either connected with wooden planks or within easy jumping range. Unlike the streets below, there were signs of people – tents and small lights in the distance. But the nearest buildings were dim and silent in anticipation of avoiding someone else’s fight. The pair moved undisturbed along the roof, easily crossing several square blocks in moments, hidden by building accesses, vents, and hastily abandoned patio furniture.

The two super mutants paced on the next rooftop above the bulk of the forces. Hancock motioned for her to stay low and looked down. Dee squinted through the streaks in her glasses, trying to make out what the mutants were doing. But they just seemed to be milling about.

“What is our brother doing?” one demanded. There was a general grumbling indicating none of the others knew. “Plan is taking too long. Too sneaky. We should attack!”

A chorus of assent.

“Badneighbor humans run and hide – can’t do nothing yet. We wait until plan is ready.”

A chorus of dissent – but none made a move to contradict the voice of reason.

“What are these green machines doing?” Hancock mused. “This ain’t like 'em – they don’t have a whole lot of strategy. They’re mostly numbers and brute force kinds of fellas.”

“Numbers and brute force tend to work pretty well,” she whispered back.

“Not against numbers and _smarts_ ,” he said, tapping his temple.

She blinked slowly at him. “So how come you haven’t you wiped them out yet?”

He inclined his head in invitation, gesturing down with his free hand. “Be my guest.”

“I’ll pass. Well – where did our big guy go?”

He scanned the area with a frown. “Not a clue. But we’re not gonna get him sitting here with our thumbs up our asses. We’ll have to find him the old fashioned way.”

She sighed. Her leg hurt. Why did this have to happen while she was in Goodneighbor? “Why haven’t they blown it up yet?”

His face twisted in frustration. “Fuck if I know. Something ain’t right.”

Without motioning or telling her, he started back the way they came. Dee skuttled to catch up. They passed someone’s abandoned shelter, or perhaps bird-watching spot, behind a brick-lined building entrance. Dee realized it was lined with old bottles only when she brushed one with her leg and it clinked over, narrowly avoiding its nearby friends.

“You hear that?” a mutant from the opposite rooftop demanded.

“Yeah! Might be wind though. Or birds,” the second answered.

“Not birds.” A loud sniff. “Human.”

Dee grimaced apologetically. Hancock didn’t chew on their next step very long; he simply peered out from behind their cover and fired off two shots, then hid again to reload. Dee squeezed her eyes shut in a half-prayer to whoever might be listening, and slid over to the opposite side.

While the mutants were stomping across the makeshift bridge looking for Hancock, one clutching his leg and growling more in anger than in pain, she shot the other in the head. It was easy when they were close. The body fell against the second, making him stumble at the last step before the next roof, and both crashed down below with a loud crunch.

“And we’re moving,” Hancock urged, tugging on her sleeve.

“They’re gonna find us,” she hissed.

“Not likely!” He let her get in front and was hot on her heels as they rushed towards the fire escape and back down. “But they are gonna _look_ for us which means we might be able to get closer to their… base. Or whatever.”

She scowled, but what did she know about reconnaissance tactics? They dropped to the street once more and began to circle around the block while the mutants came to observe their dead friends. How the hell did a super mutant with a miniate nuke hide anyway?

Not very well, it turned out.

They’d gone halfway around the next block when they were brought up short by rumbling voices.

“If _I_ go, I blow up, too!” a super mutant complained.

“One of us has to go!” the second said.

“No! Send the small one!”

“Too stupid. Won’t hold it.”

“Why you tell it what it is? Now _you_ gotta carry it!”

“No! Strap it on small ghoul, _throw_ small ghoul at Badneighbor!”

Before Dee could grab him, could even discuss a plan, Hancock howled and lunged from their hiding spot behind a dumpster. He skidded to a stop in front of the alleyway.

“Get the hell outta my neighborhood, assholes!” He began blasting – two shots, reload. Two shots, reload. He backed away out of their line of sight, towards her and the trash.

“It’s the mayor!” one shouted.

“Get him!”

Dee flicked her safety off and waited for the mutants to emerge, her own presence of mind surprising her. If he hadn't thrown himself forward first, surely she would have. The mutants barreled out seconds later, one swinging a giant concrete block strapped to a piece of wood. It missed Hancock and left a giant dent in the concrete where he had been standing a second before. He swore, fumbling the shells he was trying to load into the shotgun. The second mutant loomed, a rounded object tucked under one arm, the other balled up in a fist and raised high.

“Stupid mayor! Wearing red! Easy to find!”

Behind the mutants, someone small emerged – the ghoul girl that Hancock had made promise to stay behind the gates of Goodneighbor.

“Hancock!” Dee shouted. “Get her – I’ll get the mutants!”

_Boy, am I gonna regret that._ Hancock waved a hand in affirmation and sprinted past them. He seized the girl and lifted her, letting her clamber onto his back mid-run, cursing all the while. The mutants turned to chase after them.

“Ah! No, you don’t!” Dee shot each of them, aiming for joints as best she could. Without time to set up and while moving backwards, not all her shots landed.

But it certainly got their attention. They were a lot bigger on the ground than they had been when she was on top of the wall – definitely over nine feet and broad as two and a half average humans. She did not want to see that up close.

She turned and bolted back down the block. The mutants were slow and heavy but had longer steps, allowing them to just about keep pace with her quick but short legs.

She made a turn and realized too late that she and Hancock should have gone in opposite directions – she was coming up to the secret south exit, while he was coming up the west. She started to about-face when a thought occurred to her, and she continued on her original path. The mutants jeered at her, yelling insults and threats. But she lowered her head and kept running, grateful for the fresh rush of adrenaline and fear keeping the pain in her ankle at bay.

At the street where they’d spotted the mass of mutants, she veered right, pausing only to make sure the mutants had seen where to follow her. There were more of them scattered along the street. They looked down in surprise as she wove around them, narrowly avoiding their haphazard blows and surprised shots.

Something dinged on the back plate of her armor, forcing her into a stumble. Knees scraped the ground, just barely keeping her grip on the gun. She pushed herself off with one hand and resumed her sprint, praying it hadn’t made it through the metal. The ground shook as the mutants all took to the chase, all plans forgotten. How easy they were to rile up.

She chanced a look over her shoulder, firing without aiming to make sure they stayed interested. Most had oversized homemade weapons made for swinging and hitting. But a couple had rifles on them and they were aimed right at her. Bullets chipped the ground and debris around her, along with curses about her short stature. Normally she would have flattened anyone that teased her for it, but she guessed that wouldn't work here. She couldn’t reach anything on top shelves, but at least she was a smaller target. Life worked in strange ways.

To further annoy them, Dee zig-zagged. Like Ryan said he had at Anchorage. Not that it could be avoided; the streets were piled with collapsed concrete and makeshift barriers, with two hundred years of war and shifting territory.

Something stung her arm, then her leg. Someone got in a good couple of shots. She stumbled. But what awaited behind her would do more than sting. Fighting semi-professionally had taught her the winner was always the one that lasted the longest, lasted through any blow. So she forced her legs to keep going. This idea was stupid. _Too late now_.

The wounds were slowing her down. Her lungs hurt too, burning with the strain. A mutant was stomping up awful close behind her. Light flickered ahead. The outline of the expressway. She was approaching – what was it? – Court Street. Ryan’s older sister Denise had worked on Hanover Street, not far. She risked another glance behind her to see who was gaining.

It was the one holding the mini nuke.

She let out an involuntary scream and it gave her the energy she needed to round the last corner and shoot up the street like a rocket. Was the sniper in place? He wasn't visible. Had he passed out? Wandered off? Who trusted a drunk man with a gun? She was about to yell in frustration before remembering that _not_ seeing him was the whole point of a sniper.

Goodneighbor’s gates were in sight. The door was opening. But she was still about half a street away. She checked one last time over her shoulder.

There was a surprising distance between them, at least a quarter of the block. Then she saw the mutant had stopped to lift the mini – red light blinking – as if he intended to chuck it. Like a football. Dee shrieked at the top of her lungs.

The nuke detonated in the mutant’s hand, and for the second time in less than a month, Dee felt the heat of a radioactive blast wash over her.

Whether she had fallen or been thrown, she wasn’t sure, but the breath was knocked out of her and her scream cut short.

 


	4. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry shitscram, ya filthy animals

MacCready was staring, gun held tightly against his chest, ready to fire at the first sign of hostile movement. “I usually don’t hang around to see the end of a boom like that,” he said. The alcohol seemed to have finally drained out of him. But the kid had amazing aim even when he wasn't sober.

“You'll be fine, MacCready,” Hancock assured him. “Just some light rads. No harm to help me look for five minutes.”

“Yeah, it isn’t the rads I’m worried about…” He prodded a dead mutant in the leg tentatively.

Old car frames and mailboxes were overturned, meters away from their original locations. Bodies torn and tossed, one hanging off a slumping streetlight. Even a miniature nuke was no joke. Past the piled-up debris there was a small crater, and beyond that, the remains of the super mutants. At least one or two had probably survived and run to tell the tale. But most were dead. It couldn't have ended better if he'd done it himself.

A sound victory. It would keep Goodneighbor safe for at least a month if not more, especially if Fahrenheit’s teams worked double to secure the outer perimeter. They might even be able to expand the town once it got cleaned up. And unlike Diamond City, folks wouldn't be living in damn trailers. Whole apartments might become viable.

_Now where the hell’s the girl? How hard can a bright blue vault suit be to find?_

She’d been out of the worst of it, but she’d flown up and crash-landed like a sack of tatos off a brahmin’s pack. Ah, if he had to tell Valentine the girl was dead –

A sound caught his ear. He paused, wondering if he was hearing things again. Going back and getting a lantern rose to mind but the prospect of having to squint through light that close made him grimace. _That shit's bright._

There it was again. He peered into the darkness. A hand stuck out from under splintered plywood. Was it just another limb or did those fingers just twitch? He picked his way over and hauled the board off –

And there she was. Splattered with yet more gunk -- and _man_ , she smelled rank to his unfiltered sinuses. But the chestplate was moving steadily so she was alive.

She let out another groan, this one louder now that she was freed. There was a faint wheeze to the sound. “Did I win?” she whispered.

Hancock snorted and stooped next to her. Her grip was vise-like on her rifle. Good. You let go of your weapon, ever, you were done for. “Yeah, Vaultie. Ya won.”

"Oh. Good."

An eye slowly eased open and focused on him. Her breathing became more rapid and she shoved against the ground to try and push away from the disfigured face. She didn’t get very far and cried out in pain. It hurt in a vague sort of way, the way it always did when someone freaked out, but he told himself it wasn't personal.

“Easy, easy,” he said, keeping his tone nice and even. “You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna --” He flicked the gun's safety back on so she didn't shoot herself by accident. Or him.

She exhaled as everything caught up with her – and dropped her head back with another cry, this one of frustration. “Fuck!” She coughed, the sound reminding him of a sick smoker, and clutched her side. “I’m still here.”

“Yep,” he sighed. “Sorry to break it to ya.” He turned and raised an arm. “MacCready! Here! Help me out.”

The cough changed. Both her cheeks puffed up and she let out a strangled noise. Hancock didn't wait around to be sure and just shoved her (as gently as he could under the circumstances) onto her side. She choked, heaved, and vomited.

"That's right," he said, patting her shoulder. "Just let it out."

It didn't look like she'd eaten much recently. She fell back against the ground again, catching her breath.

"No blood," he announced after a quick inspection, hand over the remains of his nose. Well, none in her stomach or esophagus, anyway. There was plenty _on_ the rest of her though. "Good for you."

One eye was swollen closed, the whole left side of her face already starting to purple, but a second later, she was already up on her elbow, searching her surroundings even as she struggled to get a deep breath. There was something to admire about both her coherent state and her refusal to lie still. She took stock -- all limbs in place. Patted her face in search of her glasses, scowled when she found they were gone. But even when she established she was intact, she wouldn’t stop scouring the darkness for something.

He knew that look – seen it on folks on bad trips. There was nothing to find, but he knew from experience that telling them that never stopped the itching notion that there was something to anticipate, that something was happening that you had to prepare for.

He was about to assure her she was going to be okay when she grimaced and reached around under her back – and pulled out his crushed hat, miraculously still in one piece. Wordlessly, she reached up and stuck it onto his head.

“Better,” she grunted.

He beamed down at her, pushing the hat more firmly onto his head. The unbruised corner of her mouth threatened to tip up -- but she resumed her restless hunt for something that would never come, arm pushing to try and sit herself upright.

“MacCready!” he shouted again.

"Uh -- yeah, coming."

“I'm good,” she said. “Don't need help.”

“Just stay put for a second, alright? You're all sorts of fucked up,” Hancock told her. She glowered but eased back onto her elbow.

MacCready gave a low whistle as he came up behind Hancock. “Vault Girl looks like hell.”

She wheezed a sigh. “Look damn good compared to how I feel.”

“I'll bet. Let’s get you back inside." Hancock lifted one of her arms to hook it around his shoulders. She was lighter than she looked, packed more muscle than he had anticipated, but still not _light_. "Before they change their minds and bring round two.”

“Let 'em try,” she growled, and then broke into another pained cough. Hancock began to laugh while MacCready just shook his head. She made no further protest as the two hauled her up between them.

 

* * *

 

The bodies were piled up but the brevity of the fight meant injuries were down. The uninjured were moved to tunnels Amari had never heard of until today. The rest remained with her in the Third Rail, too difficult to move on such short notice. Not that Fahrenheit wasn’t trying, but stretchers took a long time to move up and down the steps. Despite the mayor’s best efforts, the healthy would always outlive the hurt. Even here.

She was no miracle worker. She wasn’t even a surgeon. There was a limited amount she could do to restore any of these people to fighting condition. Irma and her quick hands were a blessing, as was Charlie’s silent and endless contribution of alcohol for sanitizing – but even between the three of them, it was not the same as a real medical facility with a surgeon or two.

Though perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, _if_ the mayor succeeded. Everyone in the room would be scarred, some ten times over. Scars were common enough that they had become a symbol of the incredible ability and will to survive and endure. Daisy had said that before the war, smooth skin was the sign of privilege and beauty. But what was beauty in the Commonwealth if not persistence?

The thought kept her occupied as she sewed closed an arm and wrapped the head of a man whose eye would never see again. Magnolia’s humming and softer songs, acapella tonight, kept them soothed. But it wouldn’t last long. There would be crying and grief, a surge in chem use, a boost in Irma’s business – and then life would get back on track as it always had. Until the next attack.

And there would always be a next time. She wasn’t sure if that was unfortunate or not.

The all-clear bell sounded, followed by a collective sigh from everyone still awake enough to hear it.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs, slow and precarious, until they established a counting rhythm. Hancock, the ex-Gunner boy, and Dee came hopping down. At the bottom, Dee bent over as if to vomit, but nothing came out. MacCready grimaced, edging away warily. Hancock just held her up as best he could and murmured in her ear.

Amari sighed as Irma motioned them to deposit the woman onto the last open sofa. MacCready let Dee go as soon as he was able to and dusted himself off, only to find she’d bled on him. His obligations completed, he stomped back up the steps. If he could be petulant, he was fine, and that was one less person to worry about.

The doctor finished on a ghoul who’d lost a finger – not that there was much to finish there – and grabbed her bag and chair. Hancock wrestled the gun from Dee's hands and set it down carefully against the sofa. She looked none too pleased. Seeing Amari, he stepped aside to let the doctor inspect her.

“I thought you’d left,” Amari said to her as she sat. “You had… business.”

She exhaled heavily. “Surprise.”

One eye was swollen shut, skin hot and pale with fever, but she did flinch away from the light Amari shone into the other. Not a serious concussion, then.

“The suit’s coming off,” she warned. “You’re a mess.”

“Got spares.”

They unclipped the dented armor. Amari showed her the back, where a bullet was still embedded. Dee shrugged.

They managed to free her from the suit, leaving her in a Vault-Tec-emblazoned undershirt and shorts. Amari inspected the suit and found that Vault-Tec did not play around; but even military-grade fabric was still just fabric, leaving a number of radiation burns along Dee's neck and shoulders, bleeding grazes on her arms and legs, and bruising all over. Like a wounded animal, she sat stiffly, pretending it didn't hurt.

The mayor paced nearby, waiting for a verdict. Amari motioned to Dee to stay put, then stood and pulled him further aside.

“She needs a doctor, Mayor,” Amari said. "Everyone in this room does."

“Good thing we got you,” he said with the smile of a child that had gotten away with eating all the cookies.

She turned her full frown onto him. “I am _not_ a surgeon, Mayor, you have to understand there's only so much I can do. Look around you.”

He did. The sight of the Rail full of slumped and bandaged people sobered his expression. She didn’t mean to bleed the victory from his face – she’d seen Goodneighbor before his time and it had been a disaster. But he needed to be realistic.

She kept her voice low. “People are missing _limbs_. This isn't even the worst attack we've had. They can’t go on like this forever. You need a real surgical professional and you need one as soon as possible.”

“You’re right, doc,” he said softly. “That’ll be number one priority.”

She believed him. They had an understanding, she and him. For years, her mission had flown under the radar, hidden by Goodneighbor's persistent reputation – but Hancock knew how to keep secrets, and that played more than a small part in it. Though he never commented on the amount of traffic she got from shabby looking strangers who could never afford Irma's prices, it would have shocked Amari if he hadn't guessed what the Memory Den was a front for. _Coincidence_ was not in Amari's phrasebook. Nor was _divine providence._

"What happened?" she asked, sliding her eyes to the side to indicate Dee.

"Super mutants were gonna super-suicide into the wall. Only I find out _tonight_ that the repairs weren't finished. When I find out why that is --"

"Mayor," Amari prompted.

He inhaled, focusing himself. "Brave girl. Ran the suicider through the pack, brought them all together, and MacCready shot the mini nuke to detonate it. She, uh -- went flying."

Amari squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Mayor, don't take this the wrong way-- but you shouldn't have involved her."

"Hey," he said, holding his hands up, "I told her to go home. _She_ volunteered."

"Did she?" Amari wheeled around to frown at Dee, then turned back to Hancock.

He raised his brows at her. "Problem on... your end?"

"No," she said slowly. Abruptly, she pulled up the cuffs of her lab coat. "Are you hurt?"

Even with his ghoulish features, his smile could start a war. _Had_ started at least one raider turf war. "Now when has that ever happened?" He spread his arms for her to inspect him.

She pressed her lips together. "Fine. Go."

He patted his coat pocket, then let his hand fall back down to his side with a visible shudder. After another few seconds of steeling himself the old-fashioned way, Hancock began to make rounds of the room, talking to the wounded who weren’t passed out. Magnolia's soft tunes became a little more cheerful.

Amari sat back down and poured alcohol onto a fresh cloth to pat down the wounds. Dee let out a small yelp at the burning sensation, but obediently held onto the cloth to keep pressure on the hole in her arm.

It took a few seconds for her to gather breath. “What idiot miniaturizes a _nuke_?”

“Idiots from your era, I’m afraid.”

She frowned, dropping her scowl towards the floor. “Guess everything’s shit now. 'Cause of them.”

“Not everything,” she said. From the look on Dee’s face, it didn’t seem to assure her much. She changed track. “You’re surprisingly intact.”

As a pre-war specimen, it wasn’t a great surprise. What she lacked in radiation resistance, she made up for in general resilience – stronger bones, reserves of energy the average malnourished Wastelander didn't have. And judging by the obvious musculature, she'd not only taken care of herself but gone to great lengths to build physical strength.

“Is it good luck or bad to keep surviving nukes?”

“I’d call it good.”

Disinfected, bandage tied. The process was repeated all over. Amari scowled the more she found; it was sheer luck that everything had missed her as it had. Next time she may not be so lucky. When she told her as much, Dee only shrugged again.

Without an ultrasound, the only way to confirm there was no internal bleeding was to see if blood started leaking out anywhere during normal functions. The worst of it, though, wasn't the bleeding or punctures or cuts, but the burns. Amari cleaned them off and slathered them in antibiotic cream, then wrapped them up.

"If I told you that you should stay put for at least three days, would you listen to me at all?" she asked as she began to clean off the woman's face.

Dee's good eye swiveled to Amari, then back down.

"I thought not." She sighed and continued wiping. Her chin kept spitting out drops, staining the couch. “Does your chest hurt? You’re wheezing.”

“Asthma.”

“I have a muscle relaxant that should help.”

"And the shaking?” she asked, holding up her hands. They were the worst of it, but tremors and spasms shook her whole body.

“Shock,” Amari explained gently. “You’ve had a busy day. It’ll wear out in an hour at most.”

Dee nodded, resigned. She must have been hurting to accept Amari's verdicts without protest.

With the muck gone, the Y-shaped cut on her chin would need stitching and would leave a scar. She didn’t seem to care when Amari told her. “No one takes me seriously. Scar might help.” Her attempt at smiling only looked like a grimace.

“I'm low on anesthetic,” she warned.

“Save it for others,” Dee slurred from the right side of her mouth. “Just sew it up. It's not _that_ big, right?”

"I have a painkiller that could help," she offered.

"It'll knock me out, right?"

"Yes."

"Then no."

Amari sighed, but it needed to be done -- and she was right. Others needed the anesthetic more desperately. She checked for shrapnel, threaded the surgical needle, and began her work.

To her credit, Dee screamed less than most people did, opting instead to bash a hole through the back of the sofa. She was lucky her jaw wasn't cracked. Nine stitches later, she was sweating, almost ash-colored, and looked ready to throw up again.

There was a cheer from the other end of the room. Hancock laughed, and the bar-turned-infirmary laughed with him. Dee frowned until Amari drew her attention back with more bandaging and the application of the muscle relaxant into her arm. She bore the rest with only small complaining noises and faces. After the stitching, surely anything was better.

By the time Amari was finished applying bandages and compresses and had ensured Dee's sprained ankle was elevated, Hancock had returned. Seeing his glorious survivors had returned the victorious little gleam in his eye, and he brightened further at the sight of Dee.

“Well – now that the crap’s all gone, you don’t look so bad.”

She snorted and paid for it with another cough.

Amari tore open a plastic package of RadAway and handed it to her. “Drink this. And before you ask, I only have enough for treatments for the town. They'll need it. The fever will go in about an hour or so. Nausea in about four to six hours. The general aches in twelve. Then at about sixteen hours, you’ll throw everything back up -- don’t try to keep it down. In twenty-four hours, you’ll feel better. Unless you go wading through radioactive muck again.”

Dee drank it directly from the plastic without protest or question, though the taste made her face twist. “No promises.”

Amari sighed, lowering the needle she’d been feeding the muscle relaxant into. “As your current medical care provider, I feel obligated to tell you that you should not be going anywhere for the next three days at _minimum_. The sprain alone is risky to run around on. Along with everything else--"

“I'm not missing any limbs. I’ll be fine.” There was a levity in her tone. Convincing, too; Amari almost believed it. But Dee was staring at some of the others in the room who clutched at ghost arms.

“They _will_ go missing if you run off without resting properly. I can’t reattach them. Again, I urge you to let yourself heal before you go. You won’t be doing _anyone_ any favors like this.” Dee knew this. She wasn't being stubborn to save time. And that was what angered Amari the most.

One fevered, muddy green eye gazed steadily at Amari, glinting in the dim lights. “You know I can’t do that.”

Amari shot the mayor a look that said _help me_. If there was anyone to at least slow her down, surely it would be him. If he was inclined to. With Mayor Hancock, it was just as likely that he'd convince her to charge off this very second. 

Realistically speaking, the Institute had her son for ten years already and he seemed unharmed. Cruel to say – but true. Destroying Kellogg would light a fire under the Institute's backside -- but the extra couple of days from rushing off now wouldn't change ten years. Dee _knew_ this. She wasn't being stubborn to save time. And that was what angered Amari the most.

She opened her mouth to tell her the self-flagellation was not necessary and was, in fact, detrimental to everyone. But Hancock spared her the trouble as he dragged a chair over and sat himself on it, leaning his arms against the back.

His full attention was on Dee, the look of concern he gave anyone that came to him asking for help or for shelter. It wasn’t the mayoral confidence he wore while strutting around and posing. This was the man she’d met ten years before, and it was why Amari had ultimately chosen Goodneighbor to conduct her business – he didn’t turn away anyone. Anyone on the receiving end of that look was relieved to have someone genuinely listen to their plea for help.

Not Dee.

She gripped her bandaged arm and stared at his coat stubbornly, waiting to bat away whatever he threw at her.

“You got a name, Vaultie?” he asked. “I just realized I been calling you that the whole time.”

The question took her by surprise and her eye flicked to his face. He was resting his chin on his forearm, brows raised and dark eyes large, almost dog-like. His posture matched her weary slump but more open, more ready for a conversation. Amari busied herself cleaning off her materials while observing from the corner of her eye.

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don't want. Just figure 'Vaultie’ is a bit – eh. You know?”

“People call me Dee,” she said, tentatively. Then she groaned and pressed a hand to her stitched up chin.

“Is that what you _want_ to be called?” he asked.

The question seemed quite serious and Dee gave it special consideration. Amari had never put much stock in names, herself. But she knew many who did.

“Yes,” Dee said, firmer now. “My name is Dee.”

“Alright, Dee.” The smile sounded in his voice. “I wanted to say thanks, because that’s a huge risk for people you don’t got any attachment to – and also to say _holy shit_ because not a lot of folks can run through a band of mini nuke-slugging super mutants and come out alive. It’s damned impressive.”

“Is the girl okay?” she asked, turning towards him suddenly. Her voice hadn’t changed, still flat and tired, but her posture loosened.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “She’s fine. Shook up, but she wasn’t hurt.”

“Good,” Dee said. There was a softness. Hancock heard it too; he tipped his head to the side, studying her.

Amari frowned at the back of Dee’s head. “You’re still bleeding,” she said. “Lean forward, if you please.”

"Oh, not again," Dee groaned even as she obeyed automatically – and yelped as Amari wound up yanking on her scalp by accident. Her hair was a solid mass by now, dried stiff with blood and mud.

“Your hair is in the way, I’m afraid. You’ll need to clean it, or I can’t move it to see what’s wrong.”

The woman straightened but made no move to follow instructions. “Mayor Hancock -- can I borrow your knife?”

He raised a shriveled brow and pulled the weapon from its sheath by his belt. He tossed it up, catching it by the blade, and presented it to her hilt-first in an overly showy fashion. She took it with more caution than it warranted. There was something in the exchange that made Amari think of a truce. Or perhaps a pact.

With another wince, she pulled back the dark, disheveled bun and simply sawed through the clump. It passed close to the scalp. Just as well – Amari didn’t think it could be cleaned anyway. Still, it had been quite long and Amari knew what it took to cut away something growing for years.

“It’ll be more practical,” Dee said, convincing herself as she handed the knife back to Hancock, also hilt-first, hands still trembling.

Amari offered her a tiny, approving smile -- then yanked her head back into position to inspect the damage.

“So where do I stand with Goodneighbor, now, officially?” Dee asked, hand again pressed to her face over the stitches.

“Well – nowhere. You’re technically sitting with Goodneighbor.”

The joke caught her off-guard and she choked out a laugh. Then it vanished, quickly swallowed by a pained grimace. But Amari knew he was in. That was where he lived – the smiles. He stretched out his legs. _Relax_ , the motion said. _It's safe now._

“So I’m curious,” he said, pausing to look at her through narrowed eyes. Dee seemed to pause even her breathing as she waited for him to continue. "Why do ya need – what was it you were saying? – _as many radchems as your little Vaultie arms can carry_? Vault spring a leak or something? 'Cause I’m pretty sure radchems ain't gonna give you a high. Not a fun one, anyway.”

Dee's free eye skirted around the room, tentative. The value of secrecy was one familiar to the doctor. And so was the potential value of this woman to others, though Dee herself didn’t know it yet. Her failure wouldn't be a great loss, but her success could result in a great victory. Or so Deacon said. Whether that was true or not was hotly debated. But even if she was irrelevant, letting her walk off unprepared was unfair, and Amari knew Hancock did not like unfair.

“I need to find a scientist,” Dee said haltingly. She looked as surprised as Amari felt at the admission.

Hancock raised his brows. "A specific one or just any? 'Cause..." He nodded his chin at Amari.

“He... knows where the Institute is.”

The chair creaked as he shifted. “What's a Vault Dweller want with the Institute?”

The wheeze had softened, barely audible thanks to the muscle relaxant, but her breathing hitched. “They took my son.”

Hancock sucked in a breath. “ _Shit_.”

“I tracked down the Institute lackey that took my son, and I killed him." Amari felt the woman’s skin grow jarringly cold at the words.

Hancock's wrinkled brows shot up in surprised approval. He pointed a finger at her. “You get results, don't ya?”

She nodded, then bobbed her head towards Amari. “Doctor Amari and Nick helped me pick the bastard’s brain.”

“And that's where you found out where the scientist is.”

She grunted in confirmation. Amari applied the last of the sealant along Dee's scalp and unraveled more bandages. “He's... in the Glowing Sea.”

He blinked, opened his mouth. Shut it again. Then leaned forward over the back of the chair. “Say again?”

“Glowing Sea. Dead in the middle of it." She paused. "I hope you understand just how much I need this to stay private.”

“Yeah. 'Course.” Whatever he had been expecting – it hadn’t been any of that. But he didn’t look to Amari for confirmation; taking someone at face value did a lot to inspire trust. “Shit, if I were you, I'd be going nonstop, too. But the Glowing Sea? You serious?”

The corner of her mouth twitched up humorlessly. “I wish I wasn't.”

“Shit,” he said again. "That explains a bunch."

“Mayor. Forget what I said earlier.” She scanned the room, the drained and wounded. “I can't take anything from these people.”

“Eh?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Nah, we're stocked up. And we'll replenish your stock, too, doc. For your help.” He gave the doctor a nod. Amari returned it. “And _you'll_ get everything you need, Dee. _That's_ what the damned storehouses are for, regardless of what Bobbi thinks – in case of emergency. This counts.”

Dee blinked in confusion. Amari tied off the last of the bandages and let her sit up. The woman shifted, grimacing as she leaned back against the armrest to take pressure off her ribs. “What are you saying?” she asked.

Under normal circumstances, she would have cut the conversation short and forced them to let the patient rest before discussing business. But there was a crucial moment approaching. Hancock's assistance could be invaluable. Amari didn't know where or how to nudge to make it happen – she was no Deacon – but she could at least let it unfold.

“I'm saying, you'll get everything you need. The RadAway, the Rad-X. Bandages. Ammo. Whatever. Think of it as a thank-you for saving my little slice of the Commonwealth.”

The tremors that had begun to subside while they talked returned in full force as she went rigid. “What's the catch?”

“Catch?” he repeated. “I guess you could call it a catch – though I'd personally call it a free gift: you gotta take me with you.”

There was a long pause. Mangolia kicked up another song and some of the patients began to sing along and clap.

“No.”

He dropped his chin into his palm. “What – _radioactive chem king_ not good enough for ya?”

Amari suppressed a snort.

“That's not -- I mean –” She exhaled sharply in embarrassment. “I appreciate the offer,” she said stiffly, as if polite words were rusted from lack of use, “but the more people that get involved – it adds to the delays. I can't afford to wait any longer. I don't know how much time Shaun has.”

His face bunched up as he squinted at her. “You got a plan, Dee? You know how long it’ll take you? To get to the Sea and then through it? Got a guide? Got food supplies?"

She flinched at each question. "Nick is coming with me."

"He's solid, reliable. But not enough. It ain't just a straight shot south. You go by the main roads, you’re gonna get shot up by raiders the whole way. Or Gunners. Or super mutants. Or fuckin' _bugs_. It’s a three day walk just to the Sea if it’s peaceful. More if it’s not, and it never is.”

“So – I need an army,” she concluded, her voice flat with dejection.

“Something like that, yeah. Or a couple of _quality_ professionals.”

“And that's _you_?”

“And that's me.”

“Don't you have a neighborhood to run? Won't they replace you when you're not here?”

“Mayor doesn't need to be around to stay mayor.”

“Not what I meant. Goodneighbor has – a reputation.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If folks decide I ain't worth keeping around, they'll do what they gotta do.” His expression softened and he raised his hands, palms up. “Look – you already trusted me enough to tell me. And I dunno if you've been reading the only newspaper we got, but the Institute's killing the Commonwealth. Can't trust anyone, even folks you thought you knew. Not a place I'd wanna raise a kid in, Dee."

“So you wanna hit back?” she asked, bypassing the emotional appeal to get at the heart of his point.

“I really, really do,” he growled. “Diamond City might be sticking their heads in the sand, but Goodneighbor ain't. Instigating crap in my neighborhood, spying, fuckin' _replacing_ people, tearing apart families.” He tilted his head. “Families like yours. I won't stand for that kind of shit."

“Let me be clear,” she said, sitting forward a few inches. “My first priority is getting Shaun back. I _will_ destroy the Institute bare-handed if I have to –”

“I believe it,” he said, eyeing her up and down in approval.

“-- but Shaun is first. I can't think about anything or anyone else until I have him back.”

He nodded. “Not arguing that. We're on the same page, sister. I ain't heard of kids getting replaced yet, but I don't wanna see yours be the first.”

She sighed and rubbed her face wearily. Amari could see she was just about won over.

“You gotta understand, this has been going on for _years_. This is the first time I've even _heard_ of anything but ghost stories. Any information that comes outta that scientist will help _everyone_.”

Dee closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay. I suppose – I suppose that can't hurt. And if it's a trap – I guess it'll be good to have backup.” She looked at him again. “You _are_ going to shoot at the bad people, right? You're not just gonna blow smoke in their faces?”

“Don’t look a gift ghoul in the mouth,” he answered with a large grin.

“That’s reassuring,” she mumbled, slumping over further and picking at the wrappings on her arm.

Amari grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “Are you two finished?” she demanded. She prodded Dee's arm. “You need sleep.”

Dee frowned at her.

“Give me your arm." She raised her chin against the growing glare. She wouldn't be able to sleep if she was in pain.

Hancock tapped the back of his seat, drawing Dee's attention. “No way we can do anything tonight. Get some sleep. Let me tend to the flock. We'll see where we are tomorrow, alright?”

Amari pressed her lips together. Tomorrow was still too soon – but she'd convince him to delay _after_ Dee was out. Reluctantly, the woman extended her arm. Amari prepped her needle with the painkiller and stuck it in. Dee flinched, but bore it.

"In Diamond City -- no one really seems to care," Dee said as the last of the painkiller drained out. "No one else has been doing anything about it.”

The doctor snapped off her gloves, shoving them into a small biohazard container in her doctor's bag.

He growled. "Ah, fuck Diamond City. They got Piper Wright telling it to them straight and they don't give a crap."

The corner of her mouth tilted up. "You're a fan?"

"Of who? Wright? 'Course. She's got her head screwed on right. Bit of a pain in my ass sometimes, but let me tell ya -- she ain't ever wrong."

The corner of Dee's mouth turned up. “So you're saying Piper is always Wright.”

Hancock blinked in surprise, then let out a guffaw. “ _Exactly_ what I'm saying.”

Dee nodded slowly and leaned backwards into the couch. Painkiller into the bloodstream was magic. "Shame she doesn't know where the Institute is. Would save us the trouble."

"We'll figure it out," he told her with a note of promise.

Something about that seemed to soothe her and she let her head droop against the sofa back. Amari made a show of packing up until Dee's shoulders relaxed entirely, finally knocked out. She let out a relieved sigh.

"She gave in a lot quicker than I thought she would. I expected more fighting," Amari said.

"You mean the yelling kind or the punching kind? Ah -- who am I kidding. Both."

"Most likely." She cracked a small smile.

Hancock stretched, his back crackling noisily. "The girl is _tired_. But she doesn't wanna admit it." He paused, then added with a note of admiration, "Persistent, ain't she?"

 _And now scarred_. Amari sighed. "That's the last thing the Commonwealth needs -- more people who don't know their limits."

"Oh, she knows 'em. She just doesn't care. Can you blame her?"

"If something goes wrong -- if you _are_ too late -- it'll be _you_ she blames," she warned.

"Nah. She'll blame herself for listening to me. Doesn't matter, though. We'll make it just fine."

She raised an eyebrow. The buckles of her bag snapped together. "You sound sure of that."

"Do I? Good." He gave her a sly wink. "I have no idea how this'll pan out, but she don't need to know that."

"And what are you going to tell Goodneighbor?" Amari asked.

"The truth: I need a walk, getting too comfy, need to get back out there. Today's been... let's just call it a wake-up call." The casual confidence leaked out of his face slowly. "Doc -- while I'm gone, keep your head down, alright?"

"My head is always down, Mayor."

"I mean it." He leaned in, voice lowering. "Institute stomping around, Bobbi making a mess --" He paused. "Don't worry about Goodneighbor if it comes to it. Look after your people first, alright? Whoever they are."

She met his eyes. "I always do."

He grinned, then nodded back towards the room. "You can handle everything alright for now? We'll get that surgeon, but til then, we still need you."

"Yes, of course. But if you could, Mayor -- take as long as you can to go." Her eyes flicked to Dee. "The risk of infection is high at the moment."

"I can guarantee two days. After that..." He shrugged.

Her mouth twisted in disapproval. "It will do, I suppose." She'd have to assemble a list of materials to take with them to make sure the injuries were kept clean and covered... At least they wouldn't be short on supplies.

Hancock clapped a gnarled hand on her shoulder and stood from his chair, pausing to pat his coat pocket again.

"Not in front of me," she reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just making sure it's all there. Got some business to take care of anyhow."

"I don't want to know."

He took stock of the room. Every face was familiar to him, and most names, too. Assured no one was dying, he turned to go.

"John," she said.

He tilted his head at her in a half-acknowledgment. Very few people still used that name.

"If you ever want to clean up, you know where to come."

He gave her a little wave, not quite rude but still dismissive. "I know my limits, doc, but thanks."

She let him go with a shake of her head, watching him do is mayoral amble up the stairs and out of the Rail. He had his work to do, and she had hers. 

 


	5. Worry, Worry, Worry

_Just a little longer_ , he told himself. Then everyone would hunker down for the night and he could finally calm himself down. From the fighting. From the adrenaline. From the unspeakable anger rattling his dry joints.

No matter how many times they did this, there were still people to bury. They had walls and patrols and even a few automated defenses and still people kept dying. How many would he have to raise a toast to the following night? How many would need a funeral procession to the pier?

His people were all too tired to notice now but the questions would start the second the bodies went under: when will the deaths stop? When will the mayor _do_ something about the weak defenses? A little kid had almost been sent back kamikaze-style; the muties are adapting. _Your move, Mayor._

And if he was being honest, they weren't far wrong. He was running out of ideas. 'Shoot at them until they go away' had been a reliable strategy but it only lasted so long. Even a larger perimeter was just delaying the problem – especially when someone was sabotaging his goddamn _walls_. These weren't no Great Green walls; Goodneighbor's walls were cobbled together by hand with scrap and sweat, and that was meaningful and something to be proud of and all, but it wouldn't withstand a siege. If the raiders got wind of it being weak...

There were plenty of potential instigators, but a lot fewer who could actually pull off countermanding Hancock. But would rooting them out by force help or hurt in the long run? Oh, he wanted to put a bullet in them. Endangering lives to prove some kind of point or to grab power? He'd broken kneecaps and wrists and left folks for dead for less than that. But he had to think and predict where the next shot would go. Be leaderly. And he just didn't have enough information right now.

A walk would be good. A long one, to the Glowing Sea. Something had to change. If nothing else, they'd depend a little less on him and that could only be good for everyone.

 _There's always piracy_ , he mused as he stepped into the warehouse Bobbi had dug into earlier that day. _But we'll save that for when shit really hits the fan._

Faces peered up at him, scattered around the room and down the steps into the basement, and surely further down into the tunnels below. He beamed and spread his arms. "You heard the bells. We're all good." He jerked his head towards the door and stepped clear. "Get some well-earned rest, ya damn heroes!"

The cheer fed him, gave him the energy to contain the tremors. If he could harness the enthusiasm they put into defending their homes, all of Boston would light up. Whatever he did, he had to remember to do it for Daisy's sharpness and Kent's trusting little face. Not for his position -- or his anger.

They grabbed his hands and clapped his shoulders -- Kleo's light blinked at him in a wink -- as they passed to go back to their homes or to their mattresses in the statehouse. Cheers of _Goodneighbor!_ and _Hancock!_ and more than a few _Fuck the muties!_ brightened the night. Bobbi tried to sneak along with the jubilant crowd but he hooked an arm over her shoulders, sweeping her into a half-hug that made her growl.

"Bobbi!" he called cheerfully. "Stay with me a while! Let's talk." There was ice in his smile.

Once the crowd had dispersed, she wriggled and he loosened his grip, letting her slip out. Behind her, Fahrenheit leaned against a pillar, watching and waiting, and perfectly content to do only that. There'd been other bodyguards before her. But not for long. The trick to being a bodyguard was knowing when to just be a presence. Leaping in had killed people more often than it had saved him.

Bobbi adjusted her wig, her face a narrow-eyed scowl. He produced the mayoral key from one of the many pockets he'd sewn into his old coat. It cut her short and produced a curious spark in her eye.

"What's that for?" she demanded, trying to look disinterested.

"You know what it is," he said with a smirk.

He waved it until she leaned forward and snatched it from his hand. Then she strode to the nearest locked crate and stuck it into the padlock. It clicked and the lid sprung open. Bandages. Cans of cram. Purified water. Something different in every box, in every storehouse. In the train cars, in the shelves. A single human -- non-ghoul -- could last a lifetime with what was in the room right now. Bobbi eyed it all with a trained eye, already calculating its immense value.

Fahrenheit raised her eyebrows at Hancock and lifted a hand questioningly. He shook his head at her.

"Why?" Bobbi asked, turning back around, key gripped tightly in her hand.

"Maybe I suddenly took a liking to ya," Hancock said.

She let out a snort. "Why?" she repeated. Bobbi was no fool and had been around a little longer than he had, so she made sure to take a casual step back to where she could see Fahrenheit from the corner of her eye, too.

"If you don't want it..." He held out his hand.

The key disappeared into her pants pocket. "Why?"

Hancock made a show of giving a resigned sigh, putting his hands on his hips, trading a look with Fahrenheit...

With anyone else, he would have cut to the chase because damn if he didn't hate wasting time himself, especially with a fresh inhaler burning a hole in his pocket -- but she was just so easily annoyed by long displays and dragging things out. Impatience was her most serious shortcoming as a businesswoman, considering the biggest of the big thrived on being a lot of talk for a little work. It was also _his_ greatest shortcoming, but he'd been picked on enough for today. The tunnels wound up being useful, but she had yet to do anything purposeful that convinced him she was worth appeasing anyhow.

Finally, _finally_ , when she folded her arms in exasperation, he said, "I'm taking another tour of the Commonwealth."

Fahrenheit didn't do anything overt, but the slight tilt of her head told Hancock he'd surprised her as much as he'd surprised Bobbi. He liked that. If your nearest and dearest _and_ a quality adversary were taken off-guard, then everyone else would be, too. Never settle into a balance; if you've got your footing, so does what's coming for you.

"So soon after an attack?" Bobbi asked.

He shrugged. "Clean-up's not something you need a mayor for. In fact, someone lurking over your shoulder just bogs everything down."

"Hancock, if you weren't a ghoul, I'd be wondering if the eggheads didn't replace _you_." She glanced at Fahrenheit. "Did you know about this?"

His bodyguard only gave a lazy smile in response.

"Right -- why did I even bother asking?"

"With the mutants out of the picture for now,” Hancock said, pulling her attention back to him, “I think Goodneighbor's gonna be alright for a while."

"Oh, I see. You think your position's _safe_." Bobbi gave him a sneer. "That's certainly an assumption."

"Assuming makes an ass outta you and me," he answered. "It sure ain't gonna get any safer if I squeeze tighter." It'd be like crushing seajellies -- all you'd accomplish was a burning gash in your hand and its remains running between your fingers.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. Bobbi No-Nose liked a finger in every pie, though the flavors could never mix. If no one knew what anyone else was doing, then they all depended on her, and she'd dig in to keep it that way. It was tricksy and dictatorial and overall not what he was about – and that, above all else, would be what sold this conniving little plan of his.

"Mayor packs up and goes, and leaves Bobbi No-Nose the key? I been around longer than you, Hancock. What are you up to?"

He gave her a winning smile. "Justice and shit. Nothing you'd be excited about."

Her face distorted in disgust. “If you're here to tell me you're cleaning house again, consider me done and out.”

He spread his hands, placating. “Somebody stopped repairs on the walls. Mutants almost tore it down tonight, and I _ain't_ happy,” he concluded with a growl.

Bobbi's frown deepened, though not at him for once. They had their problems, but no Goodneighbor meant no place to sell her goods or schemes. Diamond City sure as hell wouldn't take it.

He took her calculating silence as an invitation to continue. “If I step out a while, we might draw 'em out. But I don't want Marowski or whoever thinking it's their chance to shine, and you, uh, got better sense than most.” He made it sound very tough to admit.

“What about Daisy? Or...?” She tipped her head at Fahrenheit.

His bodyguard snorted. “As if I want that hat.”

“Nobody's getting the hat,” he barked. “That stays with me.”

“Well, the coat wouldn't fit me.”

“No? You been trying on my coat?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway – Daisy's clever, but not political enough. But you, Buddy-Bob,” he said, wagging a finger at her, “ _ain't subtle_. Folks know ya hate my guts. You stepping in the second I turn around? Not weird. _And_ you get a free bodyguard.”

This time, Fahrenheit's head jerked back in surprise but she caught herself before she said anything.

“Alright, ain't nobody gonna believe that,” Bobbi said. “She doesn't leave your side. Don't you _piss_ with her standing behind you?”

“It's a neighborly thing to do,” Fahrenheit deadpanned, her composure regained.

“Makes me feel safe, knowing nobody's gonna stab me in the ass.”

He gave Fahrenheit a little grin and tipped his hat. Someone had, in fact, attempted to stab him in the ass once, in the not-fun way. He hadn't been pissing at the time, but she had protected his irradiated hindquarters.

“She's on my pay til the end of the year and is obliged to take my goodly mayoral commands. She'll protect you as she would me til the contract runs out, yadda yadda, and for all anyone knows, you bought her out from under me or told her my sins or what have you.” As if he had any sins the gal didn't already know about. “Point is, I don't like you, so nobody'll think twice. You get the package deal. Except the hat.”

Bobbi's eyes were narrower than he'd ever seen them, calculating her way through potential options and results. He fiddled with the cuffs of his coat to give her time to think and wondered if she could be convinced to play chess with Fahrenheit.

“And what do I get out of all this?” she asked, pulling the key out of her pocket to roll it across her fingers. Always with the profits.

He ignored the key and focused on her. “A chance to pull the rug out from under me. Or – I _guess_ you could run off with all the supplies and sell it and be rich until we track you down and kill you – but we all know what you want more than caps, Bobbi.”

The key rolled across her knotted knuckles, then back for a long minute. “Fine. I'll do it. I'll be the – distraction.” It fell from her hand and she snatched it from the air, mouth twisting into a sneer. If she had nostrils, they'd be flared in distaste. “But I'm warning you – there's a high chance your time is done.”

Hancock gave a large, hearty laugh to show her exactly what he thought of this threat. “A risk I'm willing to take. Now, this ain't an _endorsement_ , mind you – how you step up is your business, and if they kick you down, that ain't my problem.”

Bobbi pocketed the key again and patted Hancock roughly on the shoulder as she passed. “As if I need help making you look like a tool.”

He let her have the last word, watching her stride out of the warehouse. But the confidence automatically turned into a furtive slouch once her feet hit the cobblestones. If that didn't say anything about her impending reign as mayor, he didn't know what did. She had it all wrong, of course; you couldn't just stamp out the last guy – you had to show you were worth keeping. Did she have the chops for that? Maybe. Maybe not. But she'd at least keep Goodneighbor occupied for a couple of weeks.

Fahrenheit stepped up behind him. No noise, no breath, but he felt her there, guarding his ass from potential stabbings. Now that the place was empty, she thrummed with tense, questioning energy. “Am I really supposed to guard _her_ while you're out?” she asked. “Was that a serious command?”

Translation: _Are you seriously going off without me, your bodyguard?_

Hancock sighed. “Unfortunately, yeah. She might be a goddamn goat from hell, but she's still a member of the farm.” He turned to pout at her.

Fahrenheit arched an eyebrow at him. “The fuck's a goat?”

He looped an arm around her shoulder, forcing her down half a foot to accommodate his height. She'd been blessed by genes few in the Commonwealth had. “Demonic sheep with horns. Never mind,” he sighed. “Come on. Could use some jet.”

Together, they stepped out into the after-midnight quiet, bodyguard stooped to half-carry the mayor, the inhaler already gripped tight in Hancock's hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Try as he might, Nick couldn't focus on the files in front of him. That was unusual. He had a better attention span than most, and he liked to think it had less to do with him being a synth and more to do with him being a detective with years of honing his craft. He read the words, understood them, yet his mind kept... drifting. Kellogg, the Memory Den, the Institute. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on his desk but found it was empty.

Sometimes bits and pieces chipped off. From his arm, from his head, from his torso. Were things crumbling in the old noggin, too?

The chair creaked as he turned in it to look at Ellie. Her case tactics were a little different than his, resulting in her face buried amid stacks of notes and dusty old books – where and when she'd even found some of them, he had no idea. He preferred sitting only with what he had recorded; she preferred collecting analogous data. Both styles had helped in past cases.

Her teeth worried at the skin of her knuckle, tugging idly as she glowered at the page in front of her. Then she closed the book shut and thumped it aside with more force than was necessary.

“Ellie,” he said.

She almost jumped. “Oh – Nick.” She let out a sheepish laugh. “I'm sorry, I almost forgot you were there. You've been so quiet.”

He frowned. “Aren't I usually quiet?”

“Uh – well.” She smoothed her skirt as she rotated her own chair around. “You... grumble.”

“I grumble,” he repeated.

“Mmhm!” She nodded brightly. “You grumble and talk to yourself while you're mulling over a case. It's kind of cute, actually. I always miss it when you're gone.”

He barked out a short laugh. “Glad I can be entertaining, at least.”

Ellie's smile faltered. “Really, Nick, the quiet is strange. Is everything okay?”

“Eh.” He adjusted his hat. Even in the office, he found it hard to take it off – even though it'd be polite according to old world standards. “Nothing that can be fixed now. Just seeing someone from before the war and talking to her 'bout the old days – it, uh, brings back memories. Ones I forgot I had, to be honest with you.”

“Of Jennifer?” she asked seriously, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Some of them. And other people. Places.” He waved his exposed metal hand. “Hardly matters now, and it's being more of an annoying distraction than a fun and nostalgic trip.” All the trips down memory lane were painful lately.

“Maybe if you two talk some more, it'll bring back more things,” she suggested. “Maybe it'll give you something new to work with on the Winter case. Or anything else about the 'good old days'.”

“Might be. Though Amari's been pretty thorough with bouncing around in there. If she can't find anything new, I'm not so sure just talking to someone from then would do much.”

Ellie had always wanted to know more about the old days, and he'd gone to great lengths to indulge her curiosity. The details she wanted had come in pieces, enough to put together extra things related to Nick Valentine's life that he hadn't needed for himself. The rest came out in habits and idioms, references to objects that no longer existed. After a while, though, it had petered out. Amari had dug out some more, but the rest was locked away or simply... gone.

And if he was being honest with himself, aside from Winter, there wasn't much he wanted to recall from those days. There were things here and now – the agency, Ellie, all these missing people. These were the things that mattered.

Abruptly, something flashed in his mind, the way images and sounds did when Amari was prodding cores and centers and whatnot. Something old – but not pre-war. A room, fluorescent lights dangling by their last wire. They flashed and the floor trembled. More than just a rumble – lurching. A groan sounded, like the remains of an interstate highway collapsing.

Though he'd never been in one, he knew it for an earthquake. A big one.

He seized the arms of his chair, looking around for a doorway or a table. And for a person. Someone important, though the face and name couldn't quite surface, no matter how he strained to discern it.

He had to leave. But the room was so dim –

The shuddering lights gave to darkness. Ellie's face peered at him nervously. “Nick?” she asked. “Are you with me?”

“What? Did you say something?” Slowly he released the armrests and sat up. There was no room except the office with its fading lights and piles of boxed cases.

“You just – you – the – ” She let out a shaky breath, focusing herself. “Your eyes died out for a few seconds. I haven't seen that before.”

“Did they? Well, that doesn't sound good.” He gave her a small, wry smile, which didn't seem to soothe her at all. “Things got a bit complicated at the Memory Den yesterday. Might be some leftover issues – _mnemonic impressions_ and whatnot.”

“I'll stay with you while you run a diagnostic,” she said, lowering herself back down into her chair.

Nick waved the suggestion away. “I already did a couple. If that hasn't fixed it, I'll just have to wait it out.” That helped. Usually. “It's getting late and you should get home.”

“But Nick –”

“Ellie,” he said firmly, with more conviction than he felt, “I'll be alright. Doctor Amari wouldn't let me loose if she thought it was even the smallest risk. The woman's got discretion.”

She folded her arms and sunk further into her seat, her bangs flopping loosely over her face. Looked young and determined as the day he'd hired her. “Fine. But then you shouldn't leave Diamond City for a while. So I can keep an eye on you.”

Nick tipped his head back and frowned. “Not likely! Not when the chance to solve half these cases – even stop them from ever happening again – just landed on our doorstep.”

The girl's jaw shifted and she glowered at the room at large. Tears were welling up but she stubbornly blinked them away. “I know that's important, and I know you have to do it, but – I just got you back. Then you ran off to Goodneighbor _again_. And now you're – I don't know. Something's obviously wrong.”

The snappy retort died in his voice box. He pushed off his chair and stooped to give her a hug. She all but seized him around the neck.

“I guess Amari knows what she's doing. But... Skinny Malone got close, Nick, and you know it,” she said into his shoulder. “It was pure luck that people came looking for you when they did.”

“Ah, Ellie. I would've made it either way,” he assured her, though that was about all he could muster. He was too surprised. He let her hang on a moment longer. “Alright, alright. You're making the old frame creak. For such a small gal, you've got quite the grip.”

She let him free of the hug and clenched her hands together, knuckles white. Usually calm and accustomed to him vanishing for a couple of days, she'd given him a light scolding reserved for only the most worrisome of cases. He thought that was the end of it. But it didn't quite land until now just how much worse the Malone case must have seemed to her. It'd been a while since someone had been so concerned for _his_ safety. If anyone ever had been.

“I know it's important,” she said carefully, her voice carefully measured and calm, “and I can't possibly stop you even if I really wanted to. But _please_ come back in one piece. Or at least pieces I can put back together.” She straightened in her seat and pointed a finger at him, commanding. “And do that diagnostic. Just to be safe.”

He chortled despite his best efforts not to; this was serious, and he was heartened by her concern. She just looked so much like the little Ellie he'd rescued all those years ago. At the time, she'd been demanding to ride back to Diamond City on his shoulders. But the request didn't matter; he could never say no to that stubborn pout.

Nick raised his hands up in defeat. He felt certain that it wasn't as bad as she thought. But then again, maybe she was right. Maybe things were crumbling loose all over. And Murphy's Law said if he brushed it off now, it'd come back at the worst possible moment. “Alright, consider me persuaded. I'll do the diagnostic. And I'll be as careful as I _reasonably_ can be when I go.”

She let out a frustrated breath through her nose, but gave a single nod. Nick sat down again and leaned back, activating his diagnostic functions.

He had no memory of a comparable human action. The closest thing he could think of was purposefully taking a deep, deep breath, and holding it – until the whirring sound began in the back of his head. A diagnostic for him was not unlike sleep, but less frequent and took a maximum of an hour rather than six to eight.

The room faded, his vision starting to return a boot sequence, and the last thing he saw before entering his low-power state was Ellie rubbing her face wearily.

 

* * *

 

 

_Have you ever wondered_

No.

_We hear a lot about the Institute's involvement in_

Still no.

 _How long before someone in_ your _family_

No!

Piper scoffed and crumpled up the paper, hurled it against the wall, then dropped her head back. Dogmeat wuffed curiously, then lowered his head again. Everything sounded either boring or fear-mongering. Where had all her clever ideas gone?

A monthly issue had been a solid choice and usually gave her plenty of time to get her resources and her writing together, with time for editing and printing. She had _some_ time left. But it was less and less each day, and if it continued like this, she'd have to find another topic and save the interview for next month.

What else did she have? There were some minor things – something had gone down in Quincy, new settlements, suspicious new caravans and trade deals. But there was _no way_ she could write anything like that when she'd _just_ accused McDonough of being a synth. That was something that needed to be capitalized on – _before_ they decided to toss her into her prison suite, or the public thought she was full of it (she was so sure, damn it!). She needed to keep people focused on the real problem.

She groaned and kicked her leg out against the opposite armrest of her sofa. There was an ominous creak and she quickly pulled her foot back. “Sorry,” she whispered to the couch.

A rustling noise caught her attention from upstairs. Piper sat up and tilted her ear towards the ceiling. Dogmeat's ears perked up, too. Her sister was like a cat – if you heard noises and she wasn't in sight, whatever she was doing had to stop.

“Nat?”

There was a rustle and a thump.

“Nat.”

Her small face appeared at the top of the steps. “I'm not breaking anything.”

“That means you're breaking something.” Piper waved her hand. “Come down. I wanna run something past you.”

Though she didn't smile, her eyes brightened immediately. “Just a sec!”

Piper could have scolded her or tried to get her to say what she was doing, but that never really went anywhere and just made Nat more secretive. That's where they were different. When Piper was her age, she'd run around all but screaming exactly how she intended to break the rules. And she'd do it even when they tried to stop her just to prove they couldn't.

But Nat was, to put it mildly, an imp. Eyes, ears, and fingers always where Piper hoped they wouldn't be.

She had found the easiest way to get Nat to keep out of trouble was to involve her. It didn't really seem to matter what – the writing, the printing, the investigations (though never out of Diamond City itself). As long as she got to put her tiny tween hands on something.

Piper claimed some of her crumpled papers from the floor and smoothed them out as she sat back down, foot tucked. Nat came down the stairs, peering cautiously into every corner of the trailer.

“No synths,” Piper told her. “I checked.”

“Well, I'm double-checking. And triple-checking,” Nat informed her solemnly. “They'll come right when you least expect 'em.”

Piper gave her a thumbs up. “Probably for the best. Four eyes are better than two.”

Nat made it to the bottom step and, assured there were no synths in the shadows, bounced herself onto the couch. There was another creak, but it held, as it always did.

“Whatchya got?” she asked.

Piper spread out the pages she'd filled with false starts. They were all pretty bad and not worth keeping. But sometimes Nat could take something pretty terrible and make something pretty clever out of it. Maybe the writer's gift ran in the family.

Her eyes scanned the pages rapidly. “How do you read your _own_ handwriting?” she demanded, aghast. “This is awful.”

“It's – not that bad!” Piper protested. “ _I_ can read it, and that's all that matters. Besides, yours isn't that much better.”

Nat looked up from the papers and gave Piper an arch look. They both knew that was a lie. Nat's penmanship was shockingly good. Her point made, she turned back to the papers.

“Trash,” she said, knocking a page off to the floor. “Trash. Trash. Trash. Double trash. These are all terrible!”

“Aw, man! I really thought I had something going there, with the _ghost of the Commonwealth_ stuff.”

Nat leaned back and interlocked her fingers thoughtfully, one foot bouncing. “Ghosts are too scary for right now. Unless you wanna go with the Railroad.”

“Um,” Piper said, “I need tangible evidence, Nat. Where am I gonna get evidence that the Railroad even exists?”

“You could go look. I heard two guys talking about it yesterday!”

“What two guys?” Piper demanded.

“Just some guys hanging around Mr. Valentine's office.”

Piper folded her arms, frowning down at Nat. “And why were you outside Mr. Valentine's office?”

Her eyes quickly shifted to the side, realizing her error. “Because _you_ were there.”

The reporter groaned and rubbed her face. “Nat – were you _following_ me again? We agreed that's not safe.”

“I never left Diamond City, so it's fine,” Nat said dismissively, though it most decidedly _was not fine_. “Mr. Rodriguez lets Nina go wherever she wants.”

“And if Nina crawled into a mole rat den, would you go in after her?” Piper snapped.

Dogmeat, disturbed by the raised voices, huffed and made his way over from his spot by the door and stuck his head into Piper's lap. Running her hand absently over his head had an instant calming effect.

“Duh,” she said, little face contorted in disapproval. “Nina's a scaredy cat so if she went in a mole rat den, I'd have to rescue her.”

She sighed. “You can't keep following me around, Nat. You know I go to bad places sometimes, I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Mr. Valentine's office is the safest place! The Institute would _never_ go there.”

She inhaled, about to disagree and scold her vehemently, but faltered. All her time was spent finding out the truth and while eventually it would make for a better Commonwealth, sometimes it felt like the only thing she was doing was finding all the scary places. With Nat always peeking over her shoulder or around her legs, did the poor kid think there were any _safe_ places left in the world?

“Aw, Nat. It's not the office I'm worried about – ” She placed her hands over her chest. “-- it's me! I don't want you to--” She deflated. “I'm just trying to keep you safe.” _From me_.

Nat's expression was somber. It hurt to see such grown up eyes on such a young face. “The Institute doesn't believe in safe,” she reminded her softly. Then, apparently done with all this serious adult stuff, she became an animated twelve year old girl once more. “You gotta write articles, Piper! That's most important.”

With a final sigh, Piper let the argument go. Yelling about it wasn't going to help. Instead, she pointed to the fallen papers. “It all _sucks_.”

“You're bludgeoning people.” Abruptly Nat sprung forward, her nose an inch from Piper's. “This is _delicate_. We need an emotional appeal. Make 'em cry and make their mommas cry!”

Piper kept her face straight, although it was a close thing, as her sister sat back. Nat's ideas were important and laughing at them would discourage her, no matter what they were or how they were phrased. And in this case, she wasn't even wrong. The truth was the truth was the truth – but you had to present it in a way that would reach through the sand they'd stuck their heads in and through their thick skulls. Reactions were ranging from uncertain to fearful; the heart was exposed and Publick Occurrences had to go for it.

Piper sighed deeply. “I need the interview, don't I?”

“Ideally,” Nat said, nodding.

Piper groaned and flopped over, trapping Nat in a limp-limbed hug. Nat yelped and kicked her legs in protest. Not wanting to be left out, Dogmeat also clambered up the couch and smashed himself across both of them.

“What would I do without my little sister's excellent advice?” she asked into Nat's arm, getting a mouthful of itchy sweater.

“Be really boring. Get _oooooooooooffffffff_.”

This time when Nat shoved against her she let herself be pushed up and over to her side, dragging Dogmeat along with her, and let Nat rabbit her way back upstairs. The girl paused at the top of the steps to survey the room above before bounding up and back to whatever she was destroying.

 _So much for keeping anything safe_ , Piper mused as the dog gave her big eyes and stuck his wet nose on her face.

She finally obliged and gave him the ear scratches he suddenly wanted so badly. Once satisfied, he scrambled down from the couch and back to his favorite spot.

“Yeah,” Piper said, “that's right. Use me and lose me, you fluffy heartbreaker.”

His tail wagged innocently. How did she keep winding up with beings that needed to be taken care of? She was terrible at it. That she and Nat had survived as well as they did was some kind of crazy luck. They had just enough food, clean water, and could usually replace clothing if they needed to. There had been months where not all of that was true, but they bounced back. But it all relied on Piper being out and about, sticking her nose in places. If Nat started following her...

 _I'm going in circles_ , she realized. _Try to focus on_ something _productive, Wright._ With another groan, she slid off the couch herself to pick up the scattered papers. If it was an interview she needed, she'd just have to get it before they left for the Glowing Sea. If they could be persuaded to delay just a little longer. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Thanks for reading along. I'd like to take a sec to say I appreciate all the nice comments I've gotten here and on tumblr; they keep me motivated! I'd also like to say that if there's any critiques or concerns, please let me know. I'm always down for improvement and learning new things. Also, I actually hate the song Worry Worry Worry, but it seemed appropriate here.


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